Godless Provenance
by Lisette
Summary: BtVS.SG1 – For Buffy, the end is only the beginning. It's time the Slayer was introduced to the Big Picture in all of its Technicolor Glory.
1. Chapter 1

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 1**  
**by Lisette:** The television series, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and all related characters and material belong to Joss Whedon and UPN. All things _Stargate: SG-1_ belong to Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I claim ownership solely of the story idea - no profit will be made by this.

**Author's Note:** There comes a time when an author has to admit that reviews are the fuel that drives a story to completion. After one year in which this story has lingered, stagnant and without completion, I have finally reached that time. I now openly admit that you, my dear readers, can be the only thing that will push this through until the end, finally freeing me of it so that I may once more direct my attention elsewhere - and yes, perhaps even back towards a sequel to _Equinoxium_. You see? I'm not above blackmail. Regardless, let it be noted now that this story is in no way associated with any of my previous works. It is a Buffy-character-centric fic that will quickly deter from the normal path. And yes, my friends, there will be drama. There will be angst. There will be action. There will be humor and yes, there will even be romance. Maybe I do have a heart after all. Enjoy.

**Timeline: **Set during BtVS 5:22 (ep. 100) "The Gift" and pre SG1 2:18 "Serpent's Song"

**Brief Description:** BtVS/SG1 – For Buffy, the end is only the beginning. It's time the Slayer was introduced to the Big Picture in all of its Technicolor Glory.

**Rating:** M for Language, Violent Content, and Sexual Themes

* * *

_**Godless Provenance**_

There are many times in life when people get so caught up in all of the Little Things that they fail to see the Big Picture - even when it's looming overhead. Sometimes it takes something catastrophic for people to take notice, and even then only because the Big Picture comes crashing down on their unsuspecting heads.

Buffy Summers was one such individual. Her life was filled with challenges, victories, and losses, and the heavy price that came with saving a world that never appreciated her many sacrifices. In the course of her battles she had already lost her life and her love; she had been betrayed by her government and even those closest to her. Yet it was in her fifth year of living on the Hellmouth that some of the greatest prices were demanded of her. She had lost friends before, and lovers as well, but never until this moment had she been forced to suffer the heavy loss of family. A brain tumor stole her mother from her, and then Fate demanded the sacrifice of a sister that was not truly her own, but one that had been created from her flesh, from her blood, and given a place in her heart and mind. In the end, this price had proven to be too great for a soul that had already suffered too much, and instead Buffy took the gift that the First Slayer had offered her. She chose Death.

It was just too bad that Fate chose that moment to step in and show Buffy the Big Picture in all its technicolor glory.

* * *

Features cold and impassive, Buffy lifted the heavy troll hammer and then brought it down with a swift, sure stroke that connected enchanted metal with weakened flesh, causing her opponent to stumble back and to her knees. The defeated eyes of the hell goddess glistened with tears, her smooth face smeared with the blood of a self-proclaimed god.

"Stop it," Glory ordered, but the strength was gone from her rich voice and instead the words carried like a desperate plea.

"You're a god," Buffy pointed out, her lips creasing in a thin, tight line as she lifted the hammer and let it fall in another devastating blow that sent the goddess reeling onto her back on the cold concrete. "Make it stop," she continued as she knelt over the prone being who had done so much damage to her friends over the past few months. For the first time, Glory was helpless before her, and Buffy felt her anger surge as she thought of her own feelings of helplessness that had plagued her for so long now, Spike's tortured body, Tara's vacant gaze, Giles' grisly wound, and her sister's frightened face as she looked to Buffy to protect her from a goddess. Over and over again Buffy brought the hammer down upon Glory's battered frame, so many days, weeks, and months of frustration pouring into this final, brutal act- until everything shifted as Glory morphed into Ben's blood-stained features.

"I'm sorry," he choked, his brown eyes locking with her cold glare.

Rigid, Buffy looked at this shell of a man - a man that she had trusted and who had betrayed that trust, and in doing so endangered her friends and family. She should hate this man for all that he had done, and yet Buffy couldn't help the small wave of pity for the creature that lay defeated before her. She knew what needed to be done to ensure the safety of the world, again, and yet this time Buffy found her resolve lacking. There had been so much death lately, by her hand, and by whatever hand controlled the fate of others. First cancer had taken her mother, and then Glory had taken Tara. Then the Knights had come and she had destroyed them without hesitation or compunction on the morality of taking human life... and then Glory had finished the job.

So much pain and death.

Too much.

"Tell her it's over," Buffy stated, her voice betraying none of the weakness that flowed through her. "She missed her shot. She goes," she ordered, knowing even as she did so that someday she may live to regret this moment; that some day they may _all_ live to regret this debilitating weakness that stayed her hand when more blood needed to be shed to end this once and for all. "She ever, _ever_ comes near me and mine again..."

"We won't. I swear," Ben vowed as Buffy read the solemn promise in his eyes. He wouldn't be returning.

Dismissing him without a second glance, Buffy dropped the bloodied hammer and hurried away.

Dawn needed her.

* * *

"Chevron five encoded."

Hands tucked deep in his pockets, Colonel Jack O'Neill rocked back on his heels as his eyes remained riveted on the clock above the doors to the gate room. "Thirty seconds and counting, Danny-boy," he stated gleefully, well aware of his 2IC's bemused expression and the high arch of Teal'c's brow as his teammates waited beside him.

"Chevron six encoded."

"Any second now," he muttered over Sergeant Walter Harriman's familiar voice as he counted the seconds down. "Any-" he broke off as the heavy doors slid open to reveal his wayward archaeologist. As usual the younger man was burdened down with a pack that was double the size of any of the other team members, his boonie hat sitting skewed on his shaggy brown hair. "Damn," Jack cursed as Daniel came to a panting halt beside his three team members. "So close," he mused as the gate finished its final rotation.

"Sorry I'm late," Daniel wheezed as he attempted to straighten his heavy pack, apparently oblivious to Jack's disappointment.

"Chevron seven locked," came the announcement over the loudspeakers, drowning out Jack's retort as the wormhole activated and the gate exploded towards them in a rush of blue water.

"Oh, you weren't late, Daniel," Carter quickly assured with a cheeky smile as she pulled down the brim of her green hat. "I think by the Colonel's count you still had ten seconds left."

"This time," Jack corrected as he sent the captain a cool glare. "This time," he repeated before turning to where General Hammond watched from the control room. "All here and accounted for, sir," he called out with a head jerk to the fourth member of his team. "All set for a fun trip to PX..."

"PX3-582," Teal'c supplied with a slight incline of his head.

"Exactly," Jack agreed.

Smiling, General Hammond nodded his approval. "Then SG-1, you now have a go."

Throwing a jaunty salute in the general's direction, Jack turned and led the way up the shallow incline and into the shimmering lake of blue.

* * *

Dawn was screaming.

Legs pumping, Buffy flew up the final steps of the rickety tower just as a small, strange man in a black suit lowered a blood-stained knife to his side from where he stood before the tall brunette. "Dawn!" she cried as her sister's tear-stained face turned desperately towards her.

"Buffy!" Dawn gasped, the pain of the shallow cuts coloring her words.

"This should be interesting," the small man commented, readying his knife as Buffy strode forward, the small slayer barreling past him and absently pushing him over the ledge to clear the way to her sister.

"Here," Buffy reassured as she snapped the bonds holding the younger Summers with a sharp jerk of her hand, the sounds of her Dawn's pained sobs competing with the sharp scream of the strange man she had just killed, up until the point where his impact silenced his terrified cries.

"Buffy, it hurts."

"I got it," Buffy soothed, even as Dawn's three words ripped a few more jagged holes in her bleeding heart. This was her sister - the sister that was never meant to be, and yet the one that was more family than her father could now ever be. Dawn was all that she had left, and even if most of her memories were a lie, that couldn't stop the understanding that Dawn was a part of her - perhaps in an even truer sense than most sisters could claim. The monks made Dawn out of her flesh - out of her blood. "Come here. You're gonna be okay," she rambled, her platitudes coming automatically as she pulled the taller girl against her side, supporting her weight as she began leading her only remaining family from the precipice.

But even as Buffy led Dawn away from the long drop, she already knew that it was too late. The sharp copper scent of Dawn's blood drifted in the early morning breeze, and the small hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end as the very air became charged around them. She was the slayer, and as such it was impossible for her not to feel the changes that were being wrought behind them. She had been too late, but some part of her refused to accept this as she pulled her sister forward. Perhaps it was the little girl in her that had been stamped out far too young, but she couldn't help but think that if she didn't turn around - if she didn't stop and acknowledge the damage being done - then perhaps she would never have to.

A fantasy - one that was revealed when Dawn ignored their forward momentum and resisted her guiding arm. Wide, terrified brown eyes turned to her with such pleading that Buffy nearly crumbled there and then. Those eyes understood too much, and they were begging her to make things right - to do the impossible and take back what Glory had started. "Go!" Buffy ordered, the desperation to believe in that fantasy carrying into that one sharp word.

"Buffy, it's started."

Shoulders slumping, Buffy felt the agony of that fantasy crumble - every hope, dream, and wish for a better tomorrow disappearing with her belief in everything that was good and right. In that moment she finally understood true betrayal as she slowly turned towards the light of the crackling portal that was growing behind them.

* * *

Eyes riveted upon the familiar, rippling blue waters of the open wormhole, General Hammond watched as the last member of SG-1 stepped through the gate - just as the waters solidified into a crackling green lake of a turbulent sea. "What's going on?" he demanded, his usual soft Texan accent hardened beneath the instant worry for his flagship team.

"I don't know, sir," Sergeant Harriman quickly returned, his fingers flying over his keyboard. "The energy readings are off the scale and the wormhole hasn't disengaged... it's not responding to overrides," the man continued as Hammond took a step closer.

"Can you-" he began, his words faltering as a creature unlike anything he had ever before seen hurtled through the gate. It was bigger than Daniel Jackson's small car, with mottled green skin, intelligent eyes that flickered over the room, and talons that gouged the hard concrete as it skittered down the ramp and towards the armed men and women that fell back beneath gnashing teeth.

"What the hell?" someone muttered from behind him as the creature hissed at the soldiers that stood frozen in disbelief.

"That's impossible!" another technician stammered. "It's impossible for something to come back through an outgoing wormhole-"

"Close the iris!" Hammond snapped, his sharp command cutting through the shocked babble as the Sergeant moved to comply, only to shake his balding head a moment later.

"I can't sir," he admitted, just as the creature began to attack and as his men opened fire in the gate room down below.

* * *

As his feet once more found solid ground, Jack lifted his head to find not the abandoned hillside of PX3-582, but a large room done in typical Goa'uld gold, and crowded with an armed contingent of Serpent Guards with a very confused Apophis at its head. Instinctively tightening his grip on his weapon, Jack took a small, wary step forward as the rest of his team materialized beside him, their eyes locked on the strange tableau spread before them.

Shaking off his numb disbelief, Jack couldn't help but wonder who looked more confused by this turn of events - his team or Apophis. Which begged the question- "Hasn't anyone killed you yet?" he asked as he waved his gun towards their old nemesis - the nemesis who was most recently responsible for brainwashing Teal'c's son and impregnating Daniel's wife. Thin lips settling into a frown, he quickly turned to his second-in-command. "Carter?"

"I don't know, sir," she replied, her voice tight with tension. "We dialed PX-"

"Carter, does this _look_ like PX3-582?" he demanded as he jerked his head back to the waiting Jaffa.

"Uh, no, Jack," Daniel interrupted with a cautious shake of his head. "It looks like Apophis' mothership," he continued as he nodded towards a window that revealed the vast emptiness of space.

"Didn't we already blow that up?" Jack returned, his spirits rapidly sinking.

"It would seem, ONeill, as though Apophis has acquired a new Goa'uld mothership," Teal'c responded evenly as Apophis' hard features slowly lifted in a chilling smile.

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

* * *

"You know you have to let me. It has to have the blood," Dawn choked as the tears continued to stream down her pale face. And in that moment, Buffy finally understood what the First Slayer had been trying to tell her all along.

Turning, Buffy's eyes followed the length of the rickety tower to where the path led to the sun that was rising so distantly in the east. The First Slayer had said that death was her gift, and she had been right. Death had been her gift for the dark creatures that she had spent the last five years battling, and it was her gift for her sister so that the younger girl could live a long and happy life, and most importantly, it was her gift for herself as reward for so many years of hard work, for all of her losses, and in payment for the parts of her soul that had been consumed in the battle.

It was time.

"Buffy... no!" Dawn whispered, apparently guessing her intentions by the look of peace that had settled upon her features.

"Dawnie, I have to," Buffy returned as she reveled in the alien feeling that had wrapped her in a warm, soothing blanket. How long had it been since she had known peace? How long since the weight had been lifted from her stooped shoulders?

"No!"

"Listen to me," Buffy commanded as she turned to her sister with eyes that were finally less shadowed. "Please, there's not a lot of time, listen," she urged as the taller girl continued to protest, vehemently denying that which Buffy knew was rightfully hers to take. "Dawn, listen to me. Listen. I love you," she whispered, refusing to allow her sister to look away - to force her to read the truth in her own heartfelt gaze. "I will _always_ love you, but this is the work that I have to do. Tell Giles... tell Giles that I figured it out, and... and I'm okay," she stated, trying to put hours of explanation into the little time that remained. "And give my love to my friends. You have to take care of them now. You have to take care of each other," she continued, feeling a pang as she realized how much her leaving would hurt them all. For a moment, she felt that pang widen into uncertainty, until once more the First Slayer's words rang in her mind.

There was no more time.

_This_ was her time.

"You have to be strong," she continued, forcing the steel to return to her voice - only to have it falter as she fully allowed her sister's anguish to wash over her. The words 'I'm sorry' hung unspoken between them as Buffy struggled to pull her tattered resolve around her narrow shoulders. This was no time for apologies, for there was never time for apologies when it came to saying goodbye.

"Dawn, the hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live... for me," she finished as she ran her dirt-streaked hand over the curve of Dawn's cheek before pulling her close and pressing a soft kiss against her sister's smooth skin. The kiss lasted for but a moment, but it was a moment trapped in eternity as Buffy forced all of her love and strength into that simple gesture before she turned from her sister and ran towards the rising sun. With her arms spread wide Buffy jumped from the tower and allowed gravity to pull her down until the fierce waves of the portal's energy consumed her, body and soul.

First came light.

Then came pain.

And in the end there was darkness.

* * *

Mystified, Klorel, son of the mighty Apophis, ignored the hesitant warnings of his Jaffa guards as he slowly moved towards the flickering green light of the open wormhole. They were mid-dial on the gate's DHD when the portal had appeared, with no out-wash of water, and now, with the alien sun beating down upon his dark, braided locks, the warrior-child found his fascination outgrowing his distrust.

In all of the long knowledge of the Goa'uld, never before had such a thing occurred. To happen now, on the cusp of such a momentous day, heralded great things for the godling. Great things, indeed, he thought as the green light flickered over his tanned features, the energy fluctuating in stability before finally closing with a giant belch that sent one small form flying from the closing wormhole in a tangled heap of limbs that rolled bonelessly to stop at his sandaled feet.

Eyes narrowing, Klorel waved one of his Jaffa forward as his eyes traced over the small form of a young female - a slave, but one with unusual coloring. Her skin was bloodied and bruised, her features petite, and her hair the color of the sun - not unlike the Tau'ri woman, Captain Carter. Her clothing was strange - pants the color of charcoal and a heavy, high-necked shirt that was a dirty white, and black coverings upon her feet.

"She is dead," the Jaffa announced as he finished his quick inspection.

Frowning, he watched her still features a moment more before waving for the Jaffa to carry this new curiosity. Only time would tell of her significance, he reasoned as another Jaffa returned to the dialing device and began pushing the correct tiles.

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 2**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all of the amazing feedback! I told you that feedback was the key to healthy writing - and fear not, this story _will not_ be abandoned. It will see its conclusion, however far away that conclusion is. Happy reading!

* * *

Biting back an angry retort, Jack allowed their armed Jaffa escort to roughly guide them down the wide hallway, Daniel bumping awkwardly against his back as the younger man stumbled beneath a guard's brutal handling. He knew that Teal'c was somewhere further behind, and just before him Carter moved with dignity, her eyes searching out his own every few moments, as though to assure herself that this was still The Plan.

As if there could have been any other.

Upon finding that he and his team were vastly outnumbered and deep within enemy territory, it had only taken him a few painstaking moments to issue the order to relinquish their weapons and hope that he wasn't just signing their death warrants. Normally he was all about fighting to the very end, but even he knew when discretion, or in this case, surrender, was the better part of valor. No, in this case the best option was to figure out what the hell was going on, regroup, and then get the hell out of dodge. Until then-

"Hey, watch it!" Jack growled as Apophis came to a sudden halt in an intersection that looked like any of the others they had passed, the Jaffa guards reacting instantly and halting their progress with staffs thrust against the prisoners' chests.

"Take the woman and put her with the others," the Goa'uld commanded, his eyes flashing with golden light and prompting the Jaffa to comply with the orders of their god.

"Wait a minute!" Jack protested, his angry cries mingling with those of Daniel and Teal'c as he struggled to where the Jaffa converged around his second-in-command. Carter's blue eyes were wide with a barely disguised fear as she looked from her captors to where the rest of her team strained to reach her. "The only place she's going is with-" he began, the rest of his threat lost beneath a grunt of pain as a staff weapon struck him over the back of his head with enough force to cause the world to fade as pain raced up and down his back and pounded against his head.

"Colonel!"

"Hey, what was- you didn't need to hit him!"

"ONeill, are you well?"

"Colonel O'Neill!"

"It's okay, Sam, we have him."

"I said to take the woman away! Put the others somewhere safe. I will deal with them later."

And then the darkness consumed him as another wave of pain washed the world away.

* * *

Eyes snapping open, Buffy woke to find herself encased in a bright light that faded to reveal a heavy stone lid that slowly ground open, parting with a rush of cool air that brushed against her flushed skin. Confused, she stared up at a lurid gold ceiling that rose far above her, and then slowly turned her head to reveal dark paneled walls that encased her on either side; encased her tightly, closely, like a cold, unmoving lover... or like a casket.

With a gasp that echoed in the stone box, Buffy quickly sat forward, her wide hazel eyes darting around an unfamiliar room and then back to the tomb in which she had been lying. Features twisting in horror, she quickly scrambled to her knees and then clambered ungracefully over the edge, the heels of her black boots echoing off of the hard, golden floor as she stood uncertainly beside what looked like a sarcophagus - the kind in which King Tut had been buried so many thousands of years ago. The gold-plated walls were inset with funny pictures that certainly lent credence to that comparison, not that it made understanding how she had gotten there any easier. The last thing that she remembered was fighting against Glory, and then-

"Dawn!" Buffy cried as the memories unfurled within her mind, her desperate cry echoing around the large, sealed chamber as she looked frantically for her little sister. She had jumped into the portal to save Dawn - to save the world - and the only way for that to have happened would have been her death. Frowning, Buffy looked down at her blood-stained, ripped clothing as she suspiciously prodded the smooth, unmarked skin beneath. Well, she certainly didn't _feel_ very dead, she mused as she turned her eyes back to the gold-plated walls, just in time to watch as one section slid sideways with a whoosh of incoming air to reveal a group of very big, indifferent and yet strangely scary men, all of whom were carrying long poles that they held like weapons. Behind them strode a shorter, slender guy with black dreads, handsome features, and who walked as though he owned the world while his long cape swirled impressively behind him.

For a moment, Buffy didn't know where to look as her mind tried to process the ridiculous clothes they were wearing, the weapons they had to be carrying, and the unmistakable sense of evil that caused her slayer senses to go wild in warning. Instinctively she found herself backing away as she looked desperately for a weapon. Whatever they were, they didn't feel human - especially the younger guy - and she quickly put the sarcophagus between them as she abandoned her fruitless search for a weapon and instead locked eyes with the most-evil of the evil. "Who are you? Where am I?" she asked, feeling a pointless surge of pride at the strength in her voice - a strength that wavered as his eyes flashed a violent gold.

"We are your god, Klorel, son of the mighty Apophis," he returned in a voice that was deep and somehow wrong - distorted and disembodied.

"My - what?" Buffy demanded, her heart dropping as her false bravado crumbled beneath his words. With a sudden rush of horror, Buffy finally understood where she was. She wasn't dead. She hadn't received her gift - or at least not the gift that she had thought was hers to have. Instead of going to whatever wonderful place came next, she had instead ended up where Glory had wanted to be. After all, Glory was the only other god she had ever met, which meant that she was in Glory's hell dimension, and the guy before her had to be no less than one of the Hell Gods that had kicked Glory out and sentenced her to live in Buffy's world. "Oh God," Buffy whispered as she sagged weakly against the wall behind her.

With this small exclamation, Klorel's smile lifted as he no doubt thought she was addressing him in wonder or whatever else moved his followers. "Put her with the others," he ordered, and as the large, brutish men broke rank and moved towards her, Buffy found that she really didn't care. Not any more.

Numb with shock, horror, and a profound disappointment that was tinged with despair, Buffy allowed the men to grab her arms and roughly pull her from the room. She was limp and meek in their hold, a submissive captive that followed their lead blindly while tears blurred her vision. She was in Glory's hell, and with that understanding, Buffy finally realized the truth of what she had done. She had given her life to save Dawn - to save the world - and in doing so she had condemned herself. Never again would she see her family or friends. Never again would she know their love. She was lost. Alone.

As a large, barred door slid open before her, she valiantly tried to suppress the sobs that threatened to break free. She would not cry - she wouldn't, she vowed as she was unceremoniously thrown forward, her legs, weak from shock, betraying her as she tumbled in an ungainly heap on the hard floor. Yet even the pain of her rough landing was lost as the sounds of many terrified whimpers echoed around her, and lifting her head she numbly noted the many young women of all races and nationalities that were gathered in small huddles around the large room, their terrified gazes riveted upon the men that slowly retreated from the large cell.

"Hey, you okay?"

Turning at the gentle hand that rested upon her shoulder, Buffy looked up into kind blue eyes and nodded dumbly at the older blonde who was dressed in green military fatigues. But the shock was still too great, and Buffy ignored the question as her eyes slid past hers to lock on a window that revealed the dark, vast expanse of space. "Oh God," she murmured for the second time as her face drained of all color. Ignoring the other woman, she slowly got to her feet and moved towards the window as though in a dream. This wasn't space as seen from her bedroom window, but space as seen from within its dark depths.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Buffy reached out one pale, trembling hand and pressed it against the cold glass. "Where am I?" she whispered, the words a soft breath of air as she quickly snatched her fingers back and wrapped her arms tightly, protectively around her waist.

* * *

"Sergeant, I want to know what happened and I want to know now!" General Hammond barked as he glared through the observation window to where Sergeant Siler was attempting to clean the thick, gray substance and the blood from the walls of the gateroom down below.

"We're trying our best to determine that as we speak, sir," Sergeant Walter Harriman quickly assured as he stood at attention beside the furious general. Six marines had died before the creature was destroyed - six good men lost because something took control of their gate. "Reports are coming in from the Tok'ra, the Tollans - even the Nox and Asgard. The same thing seems to have happened to stargates everywhere. No one has any idea what happened - not even the Asgard."

"And what of SG-1?" Hammond demanded as he turned to the quiet technician, the loyal soldier who had been with the project for the last two years.

"They're still not answering any of our radio hails," Walter returned, his expression grim.

Frown deepening, General Hammond turned back to the heavily reinforced glass. "Have SG teams three and five prepped. We have a missing team to find."

* * *

Having regained consciousness enroute to their current cell, Jack made sure that their Jaffa guard well understood his displeasure from being separated from one of his team members with every beat of his pounding head. Not that his threats and vehement curses seemed to have had any effect.

"So... anyone know what happened with the gate to drop us on Apophis' mothership?"

Kicking angrily at the wall beside the invisible barrier that marked the doorway to their cell, Jack gave one last curse before turning to find his archaeologist slouched against the far wall, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest as though the familiar move could somehow ward him from events that were achingly beyond their control. "I'm still trying to understand why Apophis still isn't dead," Jack admitted as he jammed his hands deep into his pockets. "Doesn't anyone just stay dead these days?" he asked as he looked from Daniel's pale features to where Teal'c stood quietly beside him, the ticking of his jaw the only indication that he, too, was beginning to feel that this situation was rapidly spinning out of their control - if they ever had any control to begin with.

As the silence deepened, Daniel shifted before lifting his eyes earnestly towards Jack. "What do you think Apophis wants with Sam?" he asked, putting voice to the question that was undoubtedly running through all of their minds.

But Jack had no answers - at least none that he wanted to voice - and with a disgruntled sigh, he ran his hand over his aching head and turned back towards the doorway that appeared so tantalizingly open, and yet which he knew crackled with energy. He had already suggested throwing something metal at the invisible shielding in hopes of frying the circuitry, but all it took was one arched eyebrow from Teal'c and an incredulous snort from Daniel to quell that suggestion. Which left him out of ideas.

* * *

It felt like days had already come and gone since she had been separated from her team, but the logical side of Captain Carter realized that it could have only been hours at most since Colonel O'Neill had been knocked unconscious, again, and she had been thrown into the holding cell. She had spent the time pacing restlessly along the length of the large room, her eyes continuously looking for a way out, or for a weakness in the Jaffa that diligently guarded the shielded doorway. So far she had found nothing, and one look at the women that cowered in their shared prison revealed that she would find no help from her fellow prisoners. Most of them had stopped crying by now, and were gathered together in small groups, their wide, terrified eyes tracking her restless pacing as they sat silently and waited for whatever fate had in store for them. The women were all different - different clothing, different coloring, different cultures and races - the only common trait seemed to be their youthful vitality - the fact of which caused her stomach to roll. It seemed as though she was about to be penalized, once again, for being a part of the 'fairer' sex.

A soft cry amongst the terrified women alerted Sam of the new arrivals. Freezing mid-stride, she turned and watched as the invisible shield flickered briefly to allow in a flood of Jaffa warriors, followed by Apophis, Klorel and... "Amonet," she whispered, her eyes meeting briefly with the Goa'uld who had taken Daniel's wife, Sha're, as her unwilling host.

"Bow before your god, Apophis!" one of the Jaffa commanded, his words causing a ripple effect as the women quickly fell to their knees, prostrate and quivering before their gods.

Frowning grimly, Carter briefly contemplated following suit before she remembered the hard hit the Colonel had taken in her defense. He wouldn't have knelt submissively before the snakes he so hated, and even though she remembered firsthand the price of disobedience, Carter straightened her back and stood tall. Idly, she noted that one other refused to bow - the petite blonde woman that had been the last to join their numbers - though from the blank way the girl continued to stare into the darkness of space, Sam reckoned that her resistance had more to do with the shock from which the girl was obviously suffering. She was completely oblivious, Carter noted as a Jaffa strode to the young woman's side, roughly turned her before striking her behind her knees with his staff so that she was forced to the ground at his feet. At last something changed in the girl's deadened hazel eyes - a flicker of curiosity as she finally seemed to take note of her surroundings. But then Sam's own observations were cut short as she was struck behind the knees and forced to kneel, a hand digging painfully into her shoulder.

"Look, Klorel, and see what we have procured for you," Apophis spoke as he waved his arm over the kneeling captives. "Surely you will find a suitable host for your betrothed amongst these gathered," he continued as he smiled smugly to where Sam was watching with a growing sinking feeling. "We have even amassed a special gift for you, if you so choose. Your mate will learn much from the Tau'ri woman if she is your chosen vessel."

Struggling desperately against the iron hold of her captor, Sam watched as Klorel's eyes lighted upon her for the briefest of moments before he turned and made a show of inspecting all of the captive women in turn. As his disinterest in her became clear, Sam felt her panic slowly drain to be replaced by confusion. Not that she wasn't grateful that the son of Apophis wasn't interested in making her his snake-bride, but that she was so easily dismissed was strange. Klorel had all of the memories of his host, Skaara, and as such he would know the importance of the information that she carried. And yet the goa'uld looked past her, looked past all of them, until his eyes lit upon the blonde that watched the proceedings with a defeated air.

"That one. Bring her forth," he commanded as he waved imperiously at the Jaffa that stood beside the young woman.

Frown deepening, Sam watched as the guard pulled the girl by the elbow until she stood unresisting before them. For a moment the trio of goa'uld made a show of critically inspecting the young woman before Apophis turned to his son with a smoothly arched brow.

"This one?" he inquired, the disdain in his voice clear.

"She is too thin," Amonet added, her strangely deep voice a mockery to the clear tones of Daniel's wife, Sha're. "All bones and no flesh," she stated critically as the blonde's eyes narrowed at the goa'uld's words.

"This is the one who was thrown from the chapp'ai as it closed - a gift," Klorel explained, his eyes flashing as he, too, turned to inspect his future bride. "We sense much strength-"

"Strength?" Amonet interrupted, her eyes narrowing further. "She is small-"

"Hey," the blonde broke in, silencing everyone as deadened hazel eyes sparked in indignation. "Haven't you ever heard that good things come in small packages?"

For a moment, silence followed the young woman's interruption as all marveled at her gall. Sam, however, found herself leaning forward against her Jaffa captor as she stared at the young woman in disbelief. Not only had the stranger spoken in perfect English, but she had also spoken with an American accent - west coast, if she wasn't mistaken. Then, and only then did she truly look at the girl - from the blood-stained, grimy white sweater and charcoal pants that could easily have been purchased from any number of fashionable shops back home, to the polished sheen of her fingernails and the many small silver earrings that she had in each ear. She would stake a month's pay that the girl was an American... which just begged the question of how on earth she had ended up on Apophis' mothership.

"You will be silent before your God," Amonet whispered, her eyes narrowed in anger. But as Sam watched in disbelief, she saw that instead of cowing the young women, Amonet's words seemed to fan the spark of rebellion into a bright flame as the girl finally cast off her shroud of despair and straightened her shoulders, her chin lifted and her smile mocking.

"Funny thing about Hell Gods," the blonde returned with a jaunty smile that quickly turned feral. "I don't much care for them, and if you think that I'm sharing a body with Junior's Hell Bitch, like Ben did with Glory... well, I kicked Glory's ass and right now I'm thinking that troll hammer or not, I don't have anything left to lose."

Floored, Sam watched as Amonet hissed at the girl in fury before quickly raising her hand, clearly preparing to unleash her anger while Klorel began speaking rapidly to his 'mother' in obvious hopes to stay her hand. But the blonde wasn't finished, for as Klorel drew the attention of Apophis and Amonet, the girl acted almost quicker than Sam's eyes could follow as she jerked her arm free of her Jaffa guard and then swung the guard into the mass of soldiers that stood in a loose circle around their gods. Instantly all hell broke loose as the blonde battled the Jaffa with a strength and speed that seemed inhuman, her hands and feet moving in a blur of familiar martial moves that left the strong warriors reeling to either side, or slumped unconscious on the hard tiled floor.

Sam watched for a brief moment before she shook free of her surprise and used the distraction to slip free of her own oversized guard. Rolling forward, she came to a crouch beside a fallen staff weapon, and without pause she lifted the familiar weapon and turned back towards the melee. In seconds the staff was charged and she shot once, hitting her stunned guard and killing him instantly, his look of surprise forever etched onto his features, before she turned and fired at those who weren't already incapacitated by the young woman who seemed content to release all of her anger, frustration, and rage upon any who opposed her. For the briefest of moments, Sam's eyes met the clear hazel of the petite blonde, and in that brief exchange she recognized a kindred spirit as the blonde nodded her thanks, but then the connection was broken as an invisible force lifted Sam off of her feet and sent her slamming against a far wall.

Stunned, she slid down the wall and collapsed upon the floor, winded, bruised and fingers scrabbling for a staff weapon that was now far from reach. She looked up and found Apophis' smirking gaze upon her, but she ignored the goa'uld as she turned back to the fight in time to see a Jaffa take aim and fire a zat'nikatel at the young blonde, hitting her squarely in the chest. Wincing in sympathy as the electrical charge coursed over the girl, Carter waited for her imminent collapse - but the girl merely staggered before straightening to glare at the Jaffa who had shot her. Then, without a word the young woman started running towards the equally stunned Jaffa, only to have her steps halted as the Jaffa fired for a second time - a killing shot - and this time the young woman went down, and did not rise again.

Sam was horrified, but she could do nothing as the Jaffa warily approached the unmoving blonde, his foot prodding her once before he bent low to inspect his casualty. "She lives," the Jaffa proclaimed, the amazement evident in his voice as he turned questioningly to his gods.

Instantly Klorel turned to Apophis, his features set. "I choose the warrior," he stated, his voice firm.

Apophis hesitated for a moment before he grudgingly nodded his consent.

Closing her eyes, Sam sagged back against the wall as she heard the Jaffa gather the young woman, the American, into his arms. She didn't know what worried her more - the fact that Apophis had apparently visited her planet and taken one of their citizens, or that the citizen was about to become host to Klorel's future mate, and in doing so, would condemn her to forevermore be a prisoner in her own body. Either way, things didn't look good - for any of them.

* * *

"I'm sorry, sir, but there's no sign of SG-1."

Frowning, Hammond bent towards the computer screen and glared at the live video feed. "Major, you've only been looking for a few hours. Don't you think SG-1 deserves a little more of our time?"

"Of course, sir," the man hastily replied as he hunched closer to the camera so that his face blocked the bright sun of the alien planet. "Thing is, there's no sign that SG-1 ever made it to the planet at all. We haven't found any tracks whatsoever - the planet seems uninhabited."

The silence stretched for a moment that lasted an eternity. Too many people heard the soft Texan drawl and assumed that it made him a simple man. However, as his daughter once quoted, just because he talked slow, that didn't make him stupid - not to mention that the Air Force didn't usually make a habit of promoting a simple man into a General. If SG-1 never made it to the planet, that could only mean one thing - and it was a conclusion that General George Hammond stubbornly refused to state out loud.

"Is there a chance that the gate misdialed?" he asked, his quiet voice carrying over the rapid-fire keystrokes of the balding younger man that sat before him.

"No, sir, the logs show that the gate connected with PX3-582 - at least until the... uh, disturbance. After that... well, sir, it's anyone's guess."

Frown settling deeper, Hammond nodded slowly at Walter's words. He hadn't really expected to hear anything different, he had just desperately needed that moment to try and force the words past his constricted throat. If the Major said that SG-1 never made it to the planet, then SG-1 never made it - but to admit otherwise would be admitting to something far worse. His flagship team would have contacted them by now had they been able, which only left one other alternative - and he didn't want to have to declare his team MIA, or worse, KIA, yet again.

"Major, I want you to give it another hour."

Something akin to understanding flashed across the man's hardened features as he nodded once in understanding. "Yes, sir," he confirmed. "We'll do our best."

* * *

Groaning, Buffy woke to find herself once more lying on a bed of stone, but this time there were no stone walls to enclose her. As remembered waves of pain sizzled down her nerve endings, her eyes slid open to reveal a wash of bright, golden light. Wincing, she tried to lift her hand to shield her watering eyes, but it was as though her hand was ignoring her commands. Confused, Buffy tried to lift her head to look at the offending limb, only to discover that the paralysis seemed to extend to her head and neck as well. She couldn't wiggle her toes or even turn her head from side to side. Her eyes and her mouth were the only parts of her body that would respond to her increasingly frantic demands.

"Well, this can't be good," she murmured, thankful to at least hear her own voice.

"No, it cannot," Klorel - and wasn't that Clark Kent's real name? - agreed as he bent over her, so that his smiling face filled her vision. "Soon our mate will know well of your strengths and none of your weaknesses - and all of your secrets. You should feel honored for you have been chosen to be host to a god."

Snorting bitterly, Buffy met the god's flashing eyes. "I just finished beating a hell god to within an inch of her life, and I'll do the same to all of you," she vowed as Klorel smiled indulgently at her, as though a parent who was proud of their child's spirit.

"No, you will not," he refuted as he stepped away, Buffy straining to follow his movements as he waved imperiously to someone beside him. Frustrated at her inability to turn her head even a fraction, Buffy's eyes rolled to the other side, skipping past Superman's dad and mom, from where they stood impassively beside their son, past a few of the muscle in chain mail that she had trashed awhile back, and to another guy who was dressed in the unmistakable garb of a priest of some sort - and to the writhing, wriggling creature that was held reverently in his hands.

"What the hell is that?" Buffy demanded, her eyes growing wide as the snake-like-thing turned its dragon head towards her and hissed. The thing was evil, pure and simple, and she felt her body straining to recoil in horror from the thing, even as the slayer in her pushed against whatever held her to the table, wanting nothing more than to squeeze the thing until it popped.

"That is my mate, Senebtysy," Superman responded with a fond smile.

Eyes growing wider, Buffy desperately tried to move any part of her body - even an uncooperating finger - as she intuitively understood what was being unsaid. "And you want to put that _thing_ inside me!" she demanded as the full horror of her situation fell upon her. She was a slayer and slayers were never meant to be helpless, but that was exactly what she was. The invisible force that held her to the table seemed impervious to her slayer strength, and suddenly Buffy understood that there were far worse things than even being made into a vampire.

"Giles _so_ never said anything about Glory being an overgrown... an overgrown snake-thing!" she hissed as she watched the priest draw closer and then lower the thing onto her chest. Buffy panicked - her breath coming in heaving gulps past an airway that was suddenly too small as she felt the cold, sinuous creature slither along the bare skin of her chest, leaving a wet, oozing trail down the side of her neck, and then along the back until it entered through the base of her neck with a violent thrust - a wet squelch of tearing skin, muscle, and spraying blood.

A wave of agony and fear mingled together to steal a scream of pure terror from Buffy's lips as the evil invaded her body. She felt the creature inside her as it slithered within her, felt it coiling around her spine, and then she felt IT as it attached itself to her brain and finished an invasion of both body and soul. Her scream was cut short as IT took control, pushing a deeply shocked and traumatized Buffy deep within some dark corner of her soul - but that was before the true violation, for not only did it control her body, but she felt IT pry open her thoughts and memories, and with this violation she saw snatches of its own dark thoughts and desires. It was Evil, and she felt it like a stain that slowly spread through her body and deep into her heart, contaminating her with darkness.

And that was when the Slayer came to the fore.

* * *

"What is happening?" Amonet demanded as she turned to her husband and son with curious eyes.

A frown pulling at his thin lips, Apophis watched as the host's body began to convulse upon the golden altar, bright arcs of electricity shimmering from the circuitry as her eyes flickered with the light of a goa'uld while the pupils rolled wildly. It almost looked as though the host's body was attempting to fight off the symbiote, but never would he voice such musings aloud. Truth be told, he had never seen anything like this before - yet a god never admitted uncertainty.

"Father-" Klorel began, his clear tones showing his dismay as the altar shorted out, allowing the young woman's body to fully arc from the table before falling limp upon the hard surface. It seemed as though the struggle was over, yet he doubted the outcome as the host's ragged breathing filled the quiet room, her face flushed and her skin slick with sweat.

"Senebtysy?" Klorel asked as he stepped closer so that he could look directly down upon the face of his betrothed. Yet when her eyes finally slid open, they revealed none of the power and strength of a goa'uld, but instead a weary and pained defiance.

"Your demon-snake girlfriend," the girl whispered, not in the strong tones of a goa'uld but in the voice of the host, "is about as dead as you're going to be once I get my strength back."

Brow arching in disbelief, Apophis watched as the girl's eyes rolled back in her head, her body falling limp and ragged upon the raised altar. Surprisingly enough, he found that he wasn't that disappointed about the loss of Senebtysy, betrothed to his son, but was instead intrigued by the puzzle that was laid out before him. Ignoring Amonet's questions, and turning from Klorel as his son used his ribbon device to kill the stuttering Jaffa priest, Apophis stepped closer to inspect the small woman-child that contained a strength and speed beyond that of her kind, and who had just destroyed the goa'uld to which she was chosen to host. First the Tau'ri, the very thorns that were responsible for the destruction of his previous ship, arrive on his doorstep, and then this curiosity falls from the chapp'ai at his son's feet. It seemed as though Fate was smiling upon him this day - if he believed in fate.

Nodding briskly, he turned to his loyal Jaffa. "Summon Haremakhet," he ordered, his lips lifting in a brief, feral grin as he thought of the goa'uld that had sworn his allegiance after his own weak army had been conquered. Haremakhet had never stood a chance of gaining a seat amongst the System Lords, however he did possess one worthwhile trait that prevented his death by Apophis' own hand. "He will perform his tests on the slave and determine how her strengths may be used to our advantage," he continued, knowing that if anyone could learn from another's inner workings, it would be that fool. "Take her away."

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 3**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** Thanks again for all of the wonderful reviews! Your support and encouraging words are, as always, the driving force behind each new update. Thank you! And by the way, someone made comment about Daniel's personality, and I wanted to remind you that this story takes place in season 2 - thus, if you can stretch your memories back, we'll find a less confident, more geeky Daniel Jackson who is still very much in love with his wife, and not the confident, well-trimmed and very muscled Daniel Jackson of the more recent seasons. Alas, Jack has less gray and more spunk, Teal'c shows us less emotion, the deep bond hasn't yet formed between Jack and Carter, and Daniel is still the bumbling archaeologist that we all know and love. Enjoy!

* * *

Sighing listlessly, Jack twisted the rim of his cap between his clenched hands. Hours had passed and still they'd had no word of Carter, or even any mindless torture to pass the time. Patience had never been a virtue that he had before attributed to the snakes, but now he was forced to wonder if he had misjudged the slimy bastards all along. Unless this was a new method of torture that Apophis had devised for his victims. Why maim and kill when he could instead force them to sit and wait and wonder what was being done to their fourth member?

"ONeill, someone approaches."

"About damn time," Jack grumbled as he pulled on his rumpled hat and backed further into the cell. Shifting slightly, he leaned back casually against the far wall, automatically adopting an unconcerned air as Daniel twittered nervously beside him. Teal'c, as always, stood as an unmovable rock on his other side.

It had taken at least the first hour for Jack to admit that an ambush was out of the question. The cell was long and narrow, about ten foot by fifteen - no bigger than his living room - and absolutely barren of anything even resembling a bench to sit or lay on, with the shielded opening allowing a clear view into the hall beyond, and an even better view into their little prison. There was simply no place to hide, which meant that surprising their guards was an impossibility. Then again, when had things ever been that easy for his team?

Straightening imperceptibly, Jack watched as two large serpent guards came into view, a small, limp form hanging between them. A small someone that was unmistakably not their missing Captain, her size and the long shroud of blond hair being a dead giveaway. Brow arching in confusion, he glanced quickly at his team as the guards stopped outside their cell, triggered the barrier controls, and then threw the body in before turning and disappearing back the way they had come, and all without a word being spoken. "Well... that was unexpected," Jack stated dryly as Daniel hurried forward and gently eased the small form onto her back, revealing the delicate features of a pretty young woman.

"She's breathing," Daniel murmured as he brushed a few golden strands of hair from her tanned face.

"Okay..." Jack acknowledged as the younger man cradled the girl's head in his lap. The stranger seemed more woman than girl, despite her petite size, as the angles of her face were more severe and lacked the chubbiness of youth. She wore a halter of wispy material that bared more skin than it covered, as did the long skirt that pooled beneath her, and both revealed muscles that were firm and toned - an athletic build. Yet most strange of all were the heavy gold chains that encircled her long neck and around her slender wrists and ankles, all of which spoke of the lavish wealth most commonly associated with the Goa'uld, and not the human slaves that lived in close proximity to the slimy snakes. "So who is she and why did they put her with us?" he continued as Teal'c tipped his head to one side.

"How should I know?" came the archeologist's muttered retort.

Frowning, Jack turned swiftly from the stranger and crossed the distance to the invisible barrier to their prison in a few long strides, careful not to touch the energy shield. "Hey, I think you guys made a mistake!" he called out as he craned his neck to try and peer down the deserted hallway. "Our blonde is much... bigger than this one. Taller," he amended as he turned and looked back to where Daniel was trying to arrange the girl's garments to cover as much as possible "And she's wearing more clothes," he added, his eyes falling upon one bared thigh.

"Jack," Daniel sighed as he hurriedly drew a length of cloth over the eyeful of toned leg.

"Daniel," Jack returned with his usual patience.

"Jack, do you really think that's going to help?"

"Do you really think it'll hurt?" Jack returned as the young woman groaned softly, interrupting their banter as her dark lashes fluttered against the high curve of her cheek.

"Or perhaps we should instead ask her who she is and what she has done to merit her incarceration," Teal'c advised with a small arch of one dark brow that implied much more than his solemn expression.

Rocking back on his heels, Jack beamed at the large Jaffa. "I knew there was a reason we kept you around," he stated, ignoring Daniel's annoyed glare as he turned back to the young woman, his expression sobering as a pair of large, hazel eyes blinked confusedly at him.

"Hi there," Daniel greeted, drawing the girl's attention away from Jack and to the fact that her head was lying in some stranger's lap. Almost immediately the confusion cleared and was replaced by a surge of something that was both fearful and predatory as she rolled to the side and scooted awkwardly away until her back slammed against the lurid gold wall. Reaching back, she used the wall to support her as she awkwardly climbed to her feet. Her features flashed with barely controlled pain and she swayed drunkenly and then began to teeter sideways.

Reacting instinctively, Jack stepped forward to steady her before she toppled, but Teal'c was quicker, and as the larger man reached out a steadying hand the girl quickly backpedaled, her eyes growing even wider. "No!" she shouted, her voice firm as she shoved Teal'c back, the momentum throwing her off balance and finally sending her to her knees.

"Whoa! Easy, easy!" Daniel implored as he started forward, but Jack recognized the caged look in her eyes and easily pulled his teammate back. "We're not going to hurt you," Daniel explained as he tried to shake off Jack's restraining grip.

"No," the girl argued as she sagged weakly against the wall, one trembling hand lifting to point to where Teal'c stood cautiously against the back of their prison. "Demon," she stated, her eyes turning expectantly towards them as she struggled to catch her breath.

Sighing in relief, Daniel threw a knowing glance to his friends. "She must recognize the symbol of Apophis," he hurriedly explained as the girl shook her head in frustration.

"No, demon," she insisted as she lowered her finger until this time she was pointing unwaveringly at the Jaffa's hidden pouch and to where Junior resided.

Frowning, Jack waved for Teal'c to remain back as he waited for Daniel to do his thing. If she really understood what Teal'c was carrying, then her fear was understandable - however the look in her eyes wasn't just about fear, and strangely he found himself wishing for his gun. Her eyes were much older than they should have been, and while there was fear there, he also recognized pain, grief, and something predatory that caused the fine hairs on the back of his neck to prickle in warning.

"No, Teal'c is a friend," Daniel asserted as he flashed her his usual disarming smile - the one that caused many a native to swoon or reach for their pitchfork, depending on which way their luck was running that week. "I'm Daniel, and that's Jack," the archaeologist continued with a small wave in his direction.

For a moment, it looked as though the girl wasn't going to answer as she wrapped a small arm around her waist, her chest heaving with each pained breath. Her body was coiled, her muscles quivering as though she was prepared to defend any attack made against her, but by her ashen complexion and the sweat that beaded her brow, Jack knew that she was a hair's breath from falling over yet again. "Buffy," she finally stated, the word sounding strange and foreign as he turned expectantly to his resident genius in all things strange and foreign.

"I'm unfamiliar with the word," Daniel admitted with a small shrug, as though sensing Jack's expectant stare. "It could be Gaelic in origin, but-" he began, his usual tirade interrupted by the girl's amused snort.

"I believe that to be her name, DanielJackson," Teal'c stated calmly, causing the girl's eyes to dart quickly in his direction before lingering uneasily on his hidden pouch.

"Oh," Daniel muttered, obviously flustered. "Of course, Buffy," he repeated as he tried another of his winning smiles on the girl - one that was obviously having little to no effect as the girl merely sagged back against the wall, her eyes blinking wearily before focusing once more on Teal'c.

"Daniel," Jack prodded, his frown deepening as the archaeologist visibly floundered before seizing onto the familiar threads of his welcome speech.

"Right," he murmured, straightening imperceptibly as he turned his attention back to the young woman. "Well, Buffy, we are of the Tau'ri," he started again, relying on the goa'uld translation. "We are peaceful explorers who came through the chapp'ai and... well, we were, uh, captured by Apophis," he finished weakly, wincing as Jack glared in his direction. Just because they were captured by Apophis didn't mean that Daniel had to broadcast it to the world. It just made them sound so... incompetent.

"Yeah, met him," Buffy agreed with a tired nod, distracting Jack from his silent tirade as she looked at them with renewed interest. "Didn't like him much," she added with a small frown. "He wanted to be my father-in-law, but I wasn't very receptive to the idea."

"Wait," Jack interrupted, his frown deepening as something about the girl's speech threw him off. He took a step closer, stopping only when he noted how she tensed at his approach, her eyes sliding warily from him to where Teal'c stood quietly against the far wall. "You're telling me that Apophis wanted you to - what? Marry Klorel?" he asked as his thoughts slid to Skaara. Apparently both father and son had survived the destruction of their ships the year before - and even though Klorel was an enemy, his host, Skaara, was anything but.

"More like become his snake-bride," Buffy muttered, a haunted look flitting across her features before she hugged her arm tighter around her small waist, her expression turning stony. "One minute I'm home, then I'm dead, and now I'm here - which manages to top even my scale of weird."

"And where is your home?" Teal'c enquired, his simple question once more causing the girl to draw further against the wall, her eyes narrowed suspiciously upon him.

"A little place we like to call the Hellmouth," she returned, her eyes searching his before reluctantly turning away. "But the real question is, where does Glory fit into all of this? Are we in her hell dimension - and is Apophis one of the hell gods that kicked her out of this dimension? Why does it look like we're in space?" she demanded as she glared back and forth between him and Daniel.

"Wha- dimensions?" Daniel stammered, confusion clouding his features as he turned to Jack for help.

Lifting his hand to stop the barrage of questions, Jack played the girl's words back in his head as he looked at her in growing suspicion. There was something off about all of this - he just couldn't put his finger on what it was. "The reason why it looks like we're in space is because we _are_ in space," he replied, taking control of the situation as he pushed his hands deeper into the pockets of his BDUs. "We're on a spaceship that belongs to Apophis, I have know idea what kind of glory you're looking for, and as far as I know, there's only one dimension, and we're sitting in it."

Shaking her head in confusion, Buffy looked from Daniel to Jack and back again. "I don't understand," she admitted with a small frown. "Giles said that the ritual was going to break down the doorways between all dimensions. Once the blood started, the doorways would open and it would only close again when the blood stopped flowing."

"I think you're talking about the chapp'ai," Daniel stated, his voice uncertain as he looked questioningly to Teal'c, as though the Jaffa could confirm. "And though your culture may believe that a blood sacrifice is necessary to open the... uh, doorway, I can assure you that blood isn't needed to make it work. It's what we call a stargate, and it's actually a device that enables a wormhole between different points all over the galaxy. Each stargate is capable of forming a connection with another, and a person or object can then travel instantly between the two points."

"But Glory was a hell god," Buffy argued, her eyes beginning to look lost, as though Daniel was single-handedly responsible for destroying the world she had always believed in - which was entirely possible, Jack realized with a small, sympathetic sigh.

"No, more likely this Glory was a Goa'uld - same as Apophis and Klorel," Daniel instructed, his words soft. "The Goa'uld are a parasitic race that need a human host to survive. They are self-proclaimed gods that use humans as slaves, and the Jaffa as their soldiers. Teal'c is a Jaffa," he added, nodding towards their friend. At Buffy's curious look, he quickly explained. "The Jaffa carry a goa'uld symbiote until it reaches maturity. Teal'c used to be the First Prime of Apophis, but he turned his back on the Goa'uld and has been helping us fight against them ever since."

"So you're a good guy now," Buffy surmised as Teal'c slowly inclined his head. "And you're not a demon, but an alien, and the evil vibes I'm picking up are actually because of the evil alien snake that you're carrying."

"Wait, are you saying you can sense-" Daniel began, only to have his question interrupted as Buffy lifted a single finger in the universal sign of silence.

"Hold on - I'm absorbing," she stated, her features drawn and pensive before, with a falsely bright smile that did little to erase the pained lines the creased her forehead, she once more lifted her eyes. "Okay, all absorbed," she concluded. "So all this time the bad stuff hasn't been coming from different hell dimensions, but from different worlds, and I haven't been kicking demon butt, but alien butt... and how cool is that?" she demanded, her smile growing more assured, though Jack noticed that it never once reached her eyes. "I'm an Alien Slayer - I slay the nasty aliens that go bump in the night."

"You do battle on your world?" Teal'c asked from his position against the far wall, and this time Jack didn't have to look to know that the Jaffa's brow was going to be as arched as high as it could go - not that he could fault his friend for his skepticism. After all, Buffy looked to be all of 5'2" and maybe 105 pounds when soaking wet. Not to mention that at the moment, it didn't look as if she'd be able to stand let alone hold her own against any of the warriors they had faced in the past two years of gate travel.

"Oh, I'm a lot stronger than I look," Buffy returned with a wry smile that held none of her previous suspicion or wariness for his team member. "I'm the Slayer - the Chosen One."

"The Chosen One?" Jack returned with a healthy dose of his own skepticism.

"It could be that her culture is a female-dominant society," Daniel ventured with a helpful shrug. "One in that the women-" he continued, only to be interrupted by another snort.

"While we've certainly had our moments, I think you're missing the point to the whole Chosen _One_ - as in me, myself, and I alone," Buffy explained with a small shrug - but this time Jack wasn't laughing as the familiar, slaughtered saying had him looking at her in confusion. "I take it that you aren't a part of the Initiative then... or rather, what's left of it?" she asked as she looked at them before shrugging slowly, her slow movements doing little to hide the tremors that shook her smaller frame. "Well, the short version is that we don't have a bunch of super girls," she continued. "Just one girl who's 'lucky' enough to be chosen by the Powers That Be and given the power to keep the bad stuff at bay. When one girl dies, another is called - or so goes the speech."

"I am unfamiliar with this speech," Teal'c returned with his usual equanimity while he and Daniel merely stared at the girl in disbelief.

"Not many people are," Buffy responded glibly, a wince pulling at her features. "It's supposed to be all hush-hush, and while I'm usually secret identity girl, I figure that since I'm already known to some of you, what will a few more hurt? And besides, I'm not really seeing the point of secrecy anymore," she admitted as she cast a pointed glance around their small prison, a glance that seemed responsible for causing her to deflate before their very eyes. With a move that made her seem so much younger than her years, Buffy drew her knees up to her chest and cradled her head in her arms. "I just want to go home," she admitted, her voice flat.

Frown deepening, Jack shared a questioning glance with Daniel before he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the girl's shoulders. She was an enigma - every answer she gave just seemed to cause more questions - and her mannerisms and speech nagged at something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. All the same, there was no denying that there was something wrong with her. She was sick. Very, very sick, and her eyes spoke of a pain that he had seen in the mirror too many times himself. And then there was also the matter of their missing Captain to worry about.

Sighing, Jack watched as Daniel settled unobtrusively by the young woman while Teal'c returned to his stationary position before the cell's shielded doorway. For the moment it looked as though there was nothing more to do but wait - and if there was one thing that Colonel Jack O'Neill hated, it was waiting.

* * *

It was the distant echo of metal-shod feet that first alerted them that company was coming. Thanks to slayer-enhanced hearing, Buffy heard them coming long before Jack or Daniel, but Teal'c warned them before she had a chance to even open her mouth. Immediately her cellmates were a whirl of movement to her pain-addled mind as Daniel scrambled to his feet and hurried to the back of the cell where Teal'c took up an unobtrusive stance that somewhat shielded the archaeologist from view - though Buffy doubted that Daniel was even aware of the gesture. If anything, the younger man seemed more worried about everyone else as he looked at her and Jack impatiently, which was when she first noticed the hand that the older man had extended towards her.

They were trying to shield the weak, Buffy realized with a flash irritation as she understood that for the first time in a long time, she was being lumped into that category. Scowling at the helping hand, Buffy chose to ignore the colonel - for all of the two seconds it took her to swallow her pride and admit that this time they were right. The snake that had wormed inside her neck and invaded her mind, albeit briefly, was dead and rotting wherever it lay coiled within her - but that didn't mean that she was as good as new. The battle for dominance had weakened her, and added to that there was something else that wasn't allowing her to bounce back with her usual gusto. She felt weak, shaky, and cold, inside and out, and if she was honest with herself, she realized that she was in no condition for a fight.

With a resigned sigh, Buffy allowed Jack to pull her to her unsteady feet, her other hand clenching his borrowed jacket around her small frame. Immediately she felt a wave of crippling nausea that caused her to sag weakly against the colonel's side, her equilibrium completely blown by the thing that was busy decaying inside her own body.

"ONeill!"

"Coming," Jack returned as he wrapped his arms around her waist, supporting her against his side and hurriedly maneuvering them towards the back of their cell. Yet they had only gone a few steps when Buffy heard the footsteps slow behind them.

"Colonel O'Neill, get away from her!"

Groaning aloud as Jack swung them both towards the door to their cell, Buffy covered her mouth and resisted the urge to vomit on the man's scuffed black boots.

"Sam!" Daniel cried out, relief coloring his words, and with what felt like a tremendous effort, Buffy turned her eyes to the opening of their cell and the familiar blonde woman that was standing between her Jaffa guards. For a moment the slayer couldn't place how she knew the woman, her mind muddled with exhaustion and pain, but then everything cleared as she remembered the only person who had bothered to help her in her desperate bid for freedom against their captors.

"Carter, you okay?" Jack asked as the Jaffa triggered the shield controls and shoved the tall woman into their narrow cell.

"I'm fine," she assured as Daniel hurried to her side, as though to see for himself the truth of her words. "But, sir, you need to get away from her," she repeated as she glared at Buffy. "She's a goa'uld."

For a moment Buffy found herself absolutely flummoxed by the woman's declaration. Her? One of those snake things? The idea was at once both so repulsive and ridiculous that she was stunned into silence just long enough for Jack to drop his supportive hand and backpedal towards his friends. Yet without his help, Buffy found herself doing a slow wobble that quickly degenerated into a drunken careening towards the nearest wall. Grunting as her bared shoulder collided with the rough moldings on the lurid gold wall, Buffy spun about and glared obstinately at the reunited team even as she slid into a pitiful lump on the floor.

"Carter?" Jack demanded, pronouncing the woman's surname as a question that caused the older woman to straighten with a familiar military poise that reminded Buffy painfully of Riley.

"Apophis and Amonet gathered a group of women from which Klorel selected a new host for the symbiote of his betrothed," the woman explained, her glance darting sympathetically towards Daniel at some reference that had the archaeologist looking both hopeful and devastated at the same time. "She was selected," Carter continued as she gestured to where Buffy watched in disbelief. "The host was brought down by two zat blasts before being taken for implantation, and that was approximately four hours ago."

"But if this is Klorel's mate, what is she doing with us?" Daniel asked, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist in a manner that was so similar to Dawn when she had been younger, and their parents were fighting - a move that begged comfort and yearned for protection from being hurt any further. The unexpected movement from a man at least ten years older than herself had Buffy already forgiving them for looking at her like she was a particularly nasty looking demon, even as the reminder of her sister brought a whole new wave of loss. "And why bother pretending to be human when they blew her cover the moment they put Sam back with us?" the younger man continued logically as Buffy slowly pushed herself into a more dignified heap, the back of her head resting wearily against the cold wall.

"Maybe because I wasn't _pretending_ to be human, I'm not _anyone's_ mate, and I am definitely _not_ a goa'uld," Buffy responded as she drew Jack's jacket tighter around her with shaking hands. She felt miserable, like the thing that was dying inside of her was poisoning her. She had once had the misfortune of suffering from a nasty case of food poisoning from some undercooked chicken strips, and there was no doubt in her mind that this was ten times worse.

"Captain?" Jack prodded, his sharp brown eyes never moving from Buffy's defeated slump.

"Sir, I can sense the goa'uld-"

"Yeah, well I can tell that you're not of the norm, either," Buffy interrupted with a tired sigh, "but you don't see me jumping up and down and pointing fingers." Not that she was in any shape to be jumping anywhere, she admitted to herself as the woman flinched from the rebuke. "Look, I understand why you guys are freaking out, but you try having some snake curl up and die inside your head and see how you feel," she grumbled as she pulled the jacket even closer around her trembling body, all the while pretending that she didn't see the way the team looked at one another, silently holding an entire conversation, before Sam hesitantly moved forward to kneel beside her.

"The symbiote is-"

"Dead as a doornail," Buffy confirmed as Sam laid a gentle hand on her sweaty forehead, her blue eyes meeting her own. At first Buffy could find only suspicion in the other woman's clear gaze, but as the tremors shook her body, she could see it melt to be replaced by something that was both haunted and filled with saddened understanding.

"Sir, I think she's telling the truth," the older woman admitted, her features grave and her eyes never leaving Buffy's own. "She seems to be experiencing similar symptoms to when Jolinar was killed - only more extreme. I imagine that your symbiote didn't give up their life willingly," she ventured as Buffy gave her a small grin.

"Not so much," she agreed. And just like that, it was as though the suspicion had never been raised as Jack resumed his pacing, Teal'c stood solemnly to one side, and as Daniel settled comfortably beside her, his back against the same hideous wall and his warmth leeching into her from where he was pressed up against her miserable, huddled form.

"This is completely fascinating," he declared as Sam flashed her a sympathetic smile, as though commiserating with her weariness in the face of his unending enthusiasm. "In the time since the people of your world were taken from Earth, something must have changed to make your physiology incompatible to the goa'uld. If we could just figure out-"

With a snort of disbelief, Sam eased herself onto the floor across from Buffy. "Daniel, she's not from another planet," she stated before casting Buffy a quick, questioning glance. "You're not, are you? Because your speech, your clothing, and even your accent are too reminiscent of Earth. California, if I'm not mistaken."

"Southern California," Buffy agreed as Jack drew dangerously still and as Daniel gaped at her in disbelief. "Why? You guys actually thought I was an alien?" she asked, her nose scrunched as she turned from stony-faced colonel to flustered archaeologist and non-plussed Jaffa. "I mean, you guys are obviously military, and while apparently not Initiative, I figured that the good professor had filled everyone in on the big Slayer secret. Besides, I thought you were just joking earlier with the whole 'my society' bit. You know, kind of like my generation..." she trailed off, her babbling faltering as she took in Jack's rigid form. "Okay, what's the big deal?"

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 4  
by Lisette**

**Legalese: **See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to txalb and friends for pointing out my birthday gaff! I always appreciate your sharp eye and warm encouragements! Thanks!

* * *

_What's the big deal?_ Shaking his head in mute wonder, Jack paused in his pacing to give Buffy's sleeping form a quick, assessing glance. The girl had managed to stay awake long enough to answer many of Daniel and Carter's questions, but all too soon Jack had been forced to order them to let her get some sleep - and that had been hours ago. He remembered well the sickness that had plagued Carter after Jolinar's death and as she had been forced to endure the rapid decomposition of the snake within her own body, and it took just one look at Buffy's pale features from where she lay fast asleep, her head cradled in Daniel's lap, to show that the young woman's body was desperately fighting the same problem. Luckily, in the time that she had been sleeping they had actually been left alone, which left him plenty of time to try and make sense of the young woman's claims:

A mystical warrior, previously a normal teenaged girl, that was bestowed the strength and speed of Superman, the intuitiveness and understanding of weaponry and stratagems of G.I. Joe, and the kind of healing capabilities that would make Doc Fraiser positively drool.

A classic struggle between Good and Evil that had been secretly waged since before man walked the earth - and one that was still being fought on American soil, no less, and right beneath the ignorant nose of the government that signed Jack's paychecks.

Aliens, or the 'demons' of every myth and legend of things that go bump in the night, living and breathing (well, at least some of them breathed) in their own goddamned country, with the rest of the world too blind or unwilling to see them.

And then, of course, there was the wormhole that was apparently established independently of a stargate, which was opened by the spilling of the native Californian's blood, and closed only when her blood stopped flowing - and which, according to Carter, along with their bad timing, was most likely the culprit behind their ending up in the lap of Apophis - although he sensed that Buffy was leaving some of the story out on that one.

And here he thought that his life couldn't get any stranger.

The only good news seemed to be the consensus that the self-proclaimed hell-goddess, Glorificus, with whom Buffy had been fighting somewhere out in California, _before_ she took a swan dive into an unstable wormhole, was in fact _not_ a goa'uld. While there were certainly enough similarities, the fact that the host's body literally _morphed_ into another person really put that idea to rest. Then again, how this could all be construed as the good news really put things into perspective.

Grumbling quietly to himself, Jack ignored Teal'c's arched brow and Daniel's inquisitive glance as he slid to the floor and glared at the shielded doorway to their cell. After encountering the bizarre on almost a daily basis for the past two years, he would have thought that he had become immune to the skepticism that had caused his eyebrows to raise higher and higher with each incredible word the girl had spoken. Then again, there was a huge difference, at least in his mind, between encountering the bizarre on a planet thousands of light-years away than to finding it in his own backyard. Not that he had believed her at first, but Carter had vouched for the girl's apparent super-human speed and strength, and when the pop-culture references really started gaining strength in her speech and phrasings, even he couldn't refute that at the very least, the young woman was most definitely American.

Which meant that they had a real problem on their hands.

Being stuck in a cell on Apophis' mothership was never a good thing in his book, and it was bad enough that he had his team here with him. The snake-god had a serious score to settle with Teal'c, he was married to the snake that had taken over Daniel's wife, and after Jack and company had blown up his ship the last time they had met, Jack was sure that he and Carter weren't sitting too well, either, on the slimy bastard's list of favorite people. But this was a risk that his team had agreed to when they came to work each morning. Such danger went hand in hand with the job they did, and the risk had always seemed worth the chance to knock the goa'uld down a step or two. But Buffy... Buffy was an unknown, and mystical warrior or not, she was still an American citizen - a civilian - who hadn't signed up for any of this. And she was sharing their cell. Add the fact that she had already displayed her uncommon strength and speed (both of which he was having difficulty imagining let alone believing), and her apparent ability to destroy a goa'uld symbiote from within her own body, and she had just unwittingly made a bad situation that much worse.

Thumping his head back against the wall, Jack shifted his gaze to where the young woman slept peacefully beneath his jacket, her pale features unlined and innocent. Whether it was her nationality, her youth, or the sickness that she was powerless to hide, Jack couldn't help but feel responsible for her, and in a situation that was admittedly out of his control, he knew that feeling was going to come back to bite him in the ass before too long.

"Sir, what are we going to do?"

Eyes slipping closed, Jack didn't bother to turn to his 2IC where he knew she sat beside him. "Currently, Captain, I'm thinking of killing Apophis, escaping this cell, dialing out of here, or perhaps stealing a ship to fly home in, and of having a beer - not necessarily in that order."

"Right, sir," she responded, and this time he could hear the wry amusement in her voice. "I guess I meant for the moment. You know that Apophis isn't going to leave us alone forever - none of us," she added, and by her tone he knew that she, too, was thinking of the civilian they now had in their midst.

"I know, Carter, but unless you can find a way to short out that shielding..."

"Sorry, sir, but I already checked," Carter interrupted, and with a heavy sigh Jack slowly turned until he could see her eyes. She never had been very good at hiding what was on her mind, at least not from him, and he easily read the fear and uncertainty in her clear blue depths. But, as always, that fear was tamped beneath the iron control of a soldier.

"Carter, do you really believe all this?" he asked as he waved his hand awkwardly towards where the girl slept, her head still pooled in Daniel's lap.

"If you're asking, sir, whether I believe in vampires then the answer is no," she responded with a wry smile. "But," she murmured as her eyes became distant, as though seeing something that only she could see, "if you're asking whether it's possible that she's telling the truth... well, yes, I do."

Frowning, Jack stared at his second for a moment before shaking his head in confusion. "Isn't that the same thing?" he asked as she blinked slowly before returning her gaze to him.

"No, not necessarily," she returned as she tapped a long finger against the floor. "I certainly don't believe in the vampires of myth and legend, but as Daniel would say, every myth and legend started for a reason. It could be that there is another species on Earth, one similar to the goa'uld in that they need a human host - or perhaps an infection that's spread when a victim is bitten."

"And the mystical warrior?" Jack persisted, unable to dispel the disbelief that shied away from even Carter's educated musings.

"I'm afraid that I'm at a loss on that one, sir," Carter admitted, her brow furrowing as she, too, turned towards the younger woman. "I saw how fast she moved, and how inhumanly strong she was, and I still have a hard time accepting the fact that she's human - worse, an American citizen. She walks, talks, and acts like any normal teenage girl, but-"

"Come on, I really don't look _that_ young, do I?"

Eyes narrowing, Jack turned to find Buffy's tired hazel eyes locked on him and Carter. Her head was still cushioned in Daniel's lap, and though he knew the question was rhetorical, he couldn't help but take another measure of the young woman. Her face, unlike his own, was unlined by years or hardship, her skin still smooth and supple, and though the roundness of youth no longer filled out her features, her petite stature contributed to that misconception. But it was her eyes that really captured him, for they weren't the eyes of a teenager, or even of a young woman. They were the eyes of a soldier who had seen too many battles, who had lost too many good people, and who was on the downward spiral, even if they didn't quite realize it yet. "No, you don't," he returned, his heart heavy with what he saw.

"Well... good," Buffy murmured, obviously thrown by his answer as she slowly pulled away from Daniel and slumped against the wall behind her. "Because though my birthday didn't contain the usual flood of bloodshed and doom, I still consider my step from teenage-dom to twenty-somethings a real landmark... maybe _because_ there was no torrential bloodshed," she mused with a thoughtful frown. "You know, with all of the imminent death and dying, I don't think we even took time to appreciate this fact. I think this was a landmark Buffy birthday. Completely doom-free."

For a moment, Jack didn't know whether to smile or wince in sympathy at the girl's words. Then Teal'c took the matter from his hands as the large Jaffa turned towards the small blonde and inclined his head in what could have been anything from pity, to consolation, or even a laughing nudge in the ribs.

"It sounds as though you have led a life filled with violence and despair."

Ah - so that would be understanding. Frowning, Jack turned his gaze to the big guy and made a mental note to find out Teal'c's birthday so that they could celebrate with cakes and cookies and brightly colored balloons the next time it came round. If they ever made it back to Earth, of course.

"Violence, yes," Buffy admitted with a small shrug, "but usually not a lot in the Despair Department. I mean, yes, things have been bad before... really, really bad," she admitted, a searing pain flashing in her hazel eyes before she purposely straightened. "But there has been a lot of good, too. Like this, for example."

"Wait," Daniel interrupted with a puzzled frown. "This is good?" he asked as he waved to their cell.

"Well, it's better than the alternative," Buffy amended with forced cheer as she pulled her borrowed jacket tighter around her waifish frame.

"Which would be..." Jack offered, his brow arching expectantly.

"Allowing the doorways between worlds to stay open," she returned with a small shrug. "As it was, I saw a dragon come through my end before I jumped."

For a moment Jack could do nothing but gape at the girl as she nonchalantly straightened the wispy veils of her skirt to afford the most protection in the cold room. "A dragon?" he finally asked, his mind spinning at the implications. "In Southern California?" he added as he tried his best to figure out what sort of a spin they could put on _that_ one. The boys at the Pentagon weren't always the most creative when it came to cover stories, Deep Space Radar Telemetry as the story behind the SGC being a perfect example, but a dragon? That would tax even the most creative of minds.

"Don't worry," Buffy assured with a small smile. "I'm sure that my friends will be able to take care of it before it does too much damage. Spike will probably even be thankful for the challenge," she added with an expression that teetered between irritation and fondness.

"You have a friend named Spike?" Carter asked, her brow arching in time with the question - although for all Jack knew, his 2IC could of had a stockpile of friends named Spike. Captain Samantha Carter was brilliant, of that there was no doubt, and she was a scientist as well as a soldier, but he knew that there was a side to her that many didn't get to see. She had a Harley, after all, and any woman who rode a hog and yet had an IQ that probably rivaled Einstein's no doubt had a many-faceted personality.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call him a friend," Buffy demurred. "He used to be one of my greatest enemies."

"So what happened?" Daniel asked as he pushed his glasses up the rim of his nose.

"He was neutered," Buffy returned, a sly smile lifting her lips. Yet before Jack could continue with that alarming train of thought, the small slayer, as she had called herself, was already pushing away from the limelight as she struggled to her feet, Daniel instinctively mirroring her moves as the younger man hovered anxiously beside her. "So, anyone figured out our ticket out of here?" she asked as she began a slow, shuffling walk towards the shielded doorway.

"We have not," Teal'c intoned as he watched her through narrow eyes, obviously ready to pull her back if she got too close to the electrified doorway.

"I wouldn't recommend touching that, if I were you," Jack offered from where he lounged against an adjacent wall. "It gives off a nasty jolt," he explained as he absently rubbed his fingers against the side of his pants, remembering well the sharp jolt that had left his fingers tingling for hours. When he caught Carter's knowing smirk, he quickly slipped his hands back in his pockets. Apparently he was more transparent to his teammates than he had thought.

"And how long did it take you to realize that firsthand?" she asked, ignoring his scowl.

"Only a few minutes after he woke up," Daniel returned as he studiously ignored the glare that Jack swung in the younger man's direction. "Judging by how loud he was cursing Apophis' birthright, I'm pretty sure that it smarted - and are you really sure that you should be up and moving so soon?" he questioned as he gently gripped Buffy's arm, ignoring her frown.

"I'm a quick healer," she stated dryly before gently disentangling herself from his grip. Yet by the way she casually moved towards the wall and leaned against the paneled surface, Jack could see that she wasn't quite as recovered as she pretended to be. With narrowed hazel eyes, she inspected the doorway as she made a show of standing on her own two feet, stubbornly portraying a faltering image of strength and solidity.

An image that Jack wasn't buying.

"So if not the doorway, what's our other options? The walls look solid," she commented as she slowly slid down until she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her lap a mess of rumpled silks, satins, and veils. "I don't suppose we can use any of this junk to, I don't know, short-circuit the door or something, can we?" she asked as she pulled at one of the heavy bangles that slid down her slender arm.

Jack just _knew_ that both Daniel and Teal'c were looking at him, no doubt remembering his similar suggestion, but as Carter shook her head and flashed the younger woman a slightly patronizing smile, he found himself gladder than ever that he hadn't been the one to voice the idea. "I'm afraid that goa'uld shielding is a little more advanced than that," his genius cum captain returned in a tone that he recognized well from his own dealings with his 2IC.

"Oh," Buffy sighed as she frowned down at where her hands were twisted in her lap. "So what's Plan B?" she asked as she determinately looked at his team. "I mean, I don't know about you guys, but I can think of plenty of other places I'd rather be right now. And since my friends must think I'm dead, as I probably should be, I can't really count on them coming to the rescue... which leaves your friends," she finished with a small frown that showed her reluctance at relying on strangers for her ticket to freedom.

"Our friends?" Jack parroted as he watched the young woman straighten beneath his gaze.

"Yes, your friends, or your unit, or whatever," she supplied as she stared at him expectantly. "I mean, someone has to have noticed that you four are missing, right? So when does the cavalry arrive?"

"The cavalry?" he continued, his lips twitching in amusement.

"Well obviously," she scowled as she crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him. "Isn't it army motto or something? Never leave a man behind?"

"Ah, well that would be your first problem," Jack surmised, his thin lips lifting in a smirk. "We're Air Force, and besides-"

"A rescue operation isn't likely, or even possible," Carter interrupted, obviously intent on ruining his fun. "This place was not our intended destination and I doubt that the SGC has any idea where we are. And even if they did know that we were on Apophis' ship, they would still have no way to reach us by stargate," she continued, her voice growing more animated as she pointed out every flaw with her usual pessimistic flair.

"Carter-"

"They would need a point of destination, and being on a ship, their point of destination, or our point of origin, is constantly changing."

"Carter-" he tried again, his eyes boring into the blond woman that sat beside him.

"We couldn't dial out even if we were given the chance - not without that final coordinate."

"Carter!" he yelled, her eyes finally turning innocently to him.

"Yes, Sir?"

"I think we all get the point," he growled as Buffy tentatively lifted a hand.

"Um - no, actually I missed the point," she stated with a small shrug. "To be honest, I think she lost me somewhere around... well, around the part where we're lost," she admitted.

Scowling first at Buffy, and then at Carter, Jack was about to silence both women when, per usual, Daniel interrupted in his diplomatic way. "I think what Sam was trying to say was that there isn't going to _be_ a rescue - not from your friends, and not from ours. We're just going to have to find our own way out of here."

"Oh," Buffy returned, her lips curving in a small smile that made Jack think she had been toying with him all along. "Well why didn't you just say so in the first place?"

* * *

It was amazing how slowly time could pass when there was nothing to keep you occupied. To Buffy, it felt like days had gone by since she had been thrown into the cell with the others, but Jack insisted that it had only been sixteen hours. Yet as her stomach let out another loud rumble, Buffy realized again that sixteen hours was long enough. "So we're sure that this Fish guy has nothing to gain from starving us to death?" she asked as she allowed her head to thump back against the wall behind her.

"Pretty sure," Daniel sighed from where he lay sprawled on the cold floor, his boonie hat bunched beneath his head and one arm thrown over his eyes, the rim of his glasses pinched between two fingers and dangling off to the side. "Then again, Apophis is an evil sadist, so who am I to predict what he'll do," he continued, causing Buffy to frown at his dispassionate tones.

"Gee, that's oh-so-reassuring," she muttered as she drew her legs up to her chest, long since past the point of caring about the impropriety of her revealing clothes. What was a little bit of skin between cellmates, she wondered as she wrapped her arms around her knees in a futile effort to warm her bared skin. Not that she needed to care about her thighs hanging out for all to see. Jack and Sam were out cold, getting sleep while they could, Teal'c was meditating by the door that wasn't really a door, and Daniel was playing dead. She understood that she should have been trying to get some rest as well, for even though she felt a lot better than when she had first awoken, she was still nowhere near one hundred percent. Then again, every time she closed her eyes, all Buffy saw was her sister's tear-streaked face as she told her goodbye.

It was amazing to think that less than twenty-four hours had passed since she had been standing on that rickety tower, with all of Sunnydale spread before her. Even now it was far too easy to recall the relief at finding her sister relatively unharmed, only to have it replaced by a numb horror at the understanding that she had been too late. She had been unable to keep Riley from leaving and she had been unable to save her mother. She couldn't keep Tara safe, or prevent Giles from being hurt, or keep any of her friends from what they all knew was coming. And in the end she had faced a hell goddess... and she had ultimately lost. Even though Glory had been defeated by her hand, even though a promise of never to return had been secured, she had still lost the battle. She had been too late, and the world demanded a sacrifice for her error. The world had demanded her sister, and when push came to shove, she had gladly given herself instead. Even now some small part of her tried to argue that her actions had been honorable and just when she had taken her sister's place.

She knew better then to believe her own lies.

For so many years the world had pressed upon her shoulders, pushing her further and further down until she felt old and bent beneath the immense weight. Her strength had faltered - her shield cracked - and it would be so easy to believe the pretty words that the weakness in her whispered: that this had been her gift to her sister, and that she had already outlived her time. She had died once already - a death that was final enough to have triggered the calling of a slayer. Maybe she was supposed to have stayed dead in that dank cavern. Maybe she had been living on borrowed time since then. If that were true, then it was only right that she finally accept her role and take Death's place for her sister, thereby giving Dawn a chance at life that she would otherwise be denied.

It would be so easy to succumb to that fantasy, but Death hadn't claimed her - not yet. Instead she was neither in some metaphysical Heaven nor Hell. She was alive, and while not well, she was getting there, slowly but surely. She was in outerspace, of all places, with people that, while not necessarily innocent, were still trapped there through no fault of their own. These were real people, and as always, it would come down to her to somehow see them to safety. She was needed, her duty as the Slayer calling to her, and there was no time for her to delve into fantasies of her own making. Instead, she had no choice but to face up to the real reason why she was here.

Yes, she had jumped in Dawn's stead to keep her little sister safe, but that wasn't the only reason - or even the real reason for her seemingly altruistic leap.

She had been selfish, and weak, and deep down Buffy knew that she had jumped in order to escape a world that had become too harsh and ugly - a world that had demanded too much from her, and one in which she had no longer wanted to live. Not when Dawn was the required sacrifice - not when it meant losing her, too. So she had jumped into that portal ready to accept death and whatever came next. She had not, however, expected to jump through that portal, only to land herself as a prisoner on a spaceship with a bunch of evil aliens that wanted to destroy Earth. Never in a million years, despite the strange life she already lived, could she have ever expected this twist.

Right now, she imagined that the Powers were having a really great laugh at her expense.

"Bastards," she muttered, not realizing that she had spoken the word aloud until Daniel twisted his head to the side, his blue eyes looking in her general direction in confusion. "Sorry, not you," she sighed as she waved away his upside down glance of curiosity. "Just cursing the jerks that landed me here. Us here," she amended with a fierce frown as she huddled deeper into Jack's jacket, the green fabric smelling of something that wasn't fear or desperation, but strong and resilient - determined.

Or maybe that was just Jack's laundry detergent she was smelling, mixed as it was with whatever god-awful perfume and scented oils that someone had apparently tried to drown her in.

"I stink," Buffy muttered, more to keep the silence at bay than out of any need to inform her cellmates of her olfactory issues.

"Give it a few days," Jack called out from the back of the cell, proving that the man wasn't as asleep as she had assumed, "and then you'll know the true meaning of stink."

"Fantastic," she breathed in response, a small smile nonetheless curving her lips at the familiarity to be found in even the most banal of verbal sparring. "Soon I'll have you guys crowding me just to get a whiff of this perfumed- crap," she muttered, the rest of her diatribe forgotten as the distant ring of metal shod feet reached her sensitive hearing.

"Yes, crap will soon be the issue," Jack agreed as Daniel groaned in protest, both men obviously unaware of their burgeoning problem.

"Eww," Buffy agreed, "but still not the issue at hand. I was merely saying crap as in company's coming," she explained as this time they heeded her words without argument. As she slowly got to her feet the others got to work at waking Sam, smoothing their uniforms, and adopting nonchalant poses that worked much better on Jack and Teal'c than either Sam or Daniel. Buffy, meanwhile, took that time to take a slow measure of herself.

Slayers were remarkable creatures, capable of many amazing feats, and yet even someone who had been a slayer for over five long years had her breaking point. Over the course of her slaying career, Buffy had gotten to know what her physical limitations were, and how far she could push those limitations when circumstances demanded something that was above and beyond the call of duty. In the past year, when the threat of Glory became undeniable, she had pushed herself harder than ever, and with Giles' help, she knew that she was faster, stronger, and a better warrior than ever before. She had gone up against a hell god, and while ass kickage really only happened with the help of a troll hammer, she had still prevailed to live another day... or to die, as the case would have it, by jumping from an unstable tower into an even more unstable wormhole. The point was that she had prevailed, and as a direct result, she then had the opportunity to be insulted, jailed, electrocuted, and infested by an alien snake that wanted to take her over and dress her body as an Egyptian prostitute.

This had _not_ been her day.

Thus, as Buffy unobtrusively stretched the sore muscles in her legs and worked the kinks from her arms and back, she nonetheless plotted as she huddled deeper into Jack's over-large green jacket. Even though she usually had Xena's ass kicking abilities, the fact remained that she still wasn't in top form - or even in half form, and as usual, she looked less threatening than the heroine's inept sidekick. Heck, she looked less threatening than the heroine's inept sidekick's great aunt might appear. She knew this, and in a situation this uncertain, she actually took advantage of this fact instead of railing against it. Within a few steps she found herself allayed beside Daniel, and next to his tall frame and with Jack's large jacket hanging loose around her, she managed to make her waifish frame seem even smaller. With eyes cast humbly to the floor, she allowed a measure of her abject misery to show on her face as she played up her part - going even so far as to lean against the bookish man, as though she needed his support to remain standing.

For a brief moment she thought about moaning piteously, but feeling Jack's questioning eyes upon her, she realized that such theatrics bordered on overkill. Instead, she helped Daniel to feel useful and manly as he wrapped an arm around her and held her protectively against his side as the Jaffa train rolled into the station.

"Unless one of you guys are pushing a food trolley, you might as well just keep on walking," Jack called out as he lounged lazily against a gold slatted wall, one foot propped behind him and his arms crossed casually across his thin black tee-shirt. "No, seriously, this may come as a surprise to you guys, but we really do need food and water just as much as the next guy," he continued as Buffy counted four Jaffa, all armed with the staffs and zats that Daniel had described to her while Sam added in a bunch of techno mumbo jumbo that went straight over her head. Like a good Slayer, Buffy had fallen back upon the tried but true method of smiling and nodding, the same method that she had come to perfect with Giles - and either she was better at it than she had realized, or else the captain had previous experience with this tactic, for she had given up relatively quickly.

"Jack, I don't think they're here to give us dinner," Daniel stated unnecessarily, and Buffy felt his arm draw her closer against his side as one boulder of a man triggered the door release while two of his friends stalked into the cell, heading straight for her and Daniel.

Even as she hated herself for doing it, Buffy cowered against the archaeologist's side, issuing lame protests as they manhandled her from Daniel's desperate grip and towards the staff-covered doorway, her cellmates all the while noisily voicing their concern. What she hadn't counted on, however, was Daniel playing hero. One moment she was being none-too-gently guided towards the hallway, and in the next she was sharply jostled and then shoved roughly against the wall. Grunting as she rebounded off the unforgiving metal, Buffy turned in time to see Daniel being shrugged off the back of one nameless Jaffa, while the other brought his staff down too quickly for anyone to intercept, the base striking the archaeologist's head so hard that Buffy was surprised the staff didn't break. As it was, Daniel went down without a sound, the sickening crack of blunt object against skull reverberating in the room as his already injured head rebounded off the floor before lying still, one ashen cheek pressed against a slow seepage of dark blood.

**To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 5**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

"Daniel!" Sam cried as she and Jack hurried to their friend's side, her pale fingers frantically pushing against the artery in his neck, searching for a pulse. Teal'c made a threatening step forward, a low growl rumbling from deep in his throat, but he halted as the staffs of the guards waiting outside split open with a crackle of energy.

It had happened so fast, and Buffy felt her guilt battle the wave of anger that caused her hands to bunch into fists. Perhaps if she hadn't of looked quite that weak and frightened, perhaps if she hadn't downplayed her strengths that much, then maybe Daniel wouldn't have been prompted to such unbelievably stupid heroics. Then again, maybe that was just another facet of his personality. It's not like she had known the man long enough to predict his every action. She had been working alongside her friends for so many years that there had never been a need to explain The Plan, even when the plan was to fly by the seat of their pants. She never would have had to explain to the others that she was merely playing possum, for they would have recognized it as the farce that it was. They knew her strengths and weaknesses almost as well as she did, for she was the Slayer and they had always known her in this role. She was the protector, not the protectorate, and stupidly she had allowed herself to relax and fall into a role - into a strategy - that was inherently flawed due to the simple fact that these people - these unfortunate strangers - despite her shocking revelations, still didn't know her from the next bubble-headed co-ed. She was an unknown to them, an outsider, while they were the team - they were family - and she had just gotten one of them whammied so hard that she wasn't sure if he'd ever be getting back up again.

Channeling her anger, Buffy allowed her hands to tremble as she lifted them in what she hoped was a sign of obvious surrender. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she assured as one of Daniel's assailants gripped her arms with brutal hands and propelled her towards the two guards that waited in the hallway beyond, while the other aimed a primed zat at the downed archaeologist - as if Daniel could still do harm.

In just a few steps she was out in the shadowed hallway, finally free of their prison, and with a quick, shuttered glance she saw that at the very least Daniel's stupidly heroic efforts weren't going to be in vain. Jack and Sam were of no interest to the guards as they attended to their fallen teammate, but Teal'c's towering menace was so fierce that he drew the attention of the waiting Jaffa, the ends of their staff weapons parted and bristling with some sort of static charge that promised nothing but unbridled pain. Buffy, however, was ignored - which was just the way she liked it.

Four power-stoked Jaffa that were armed to the teeth while she was at about 65 percent.

No problem.

With a fluid roll of her shoulders, Buffy quickly got to work as she shrugged out of her captor's hold and snapped her fist back into his face, breaking his nose and sending him crashing to the floor. With something far less than lightening-fast speed, she then reversed her momentum and threw her fist forward in a punch that, while not carrying her usual power, still managed to rock the other guard into the newly armed doorway to their cell. The reaction was instantaneous as the Jaffa began to scream, bright, fiery electricity arcing around his smoking frame. The smell of burned flesh reached her long before the still-active doorway dropped the unfortunate guard into an unconscious heap, but Buffy had already shaken off her shock and was moving toward her third opponent - different scenarios running through her head.

She was weakening, and she recognized this fact as stepped into a solid side-kick that lacked her usual flair and instead channeled a greater force into the Jaffa's stomach - an apparent weak spot, as it knocked him into a heaving bundle in one go. And yet she was still moving too slow. She knew this even as she cursed her lingering weakness and the dead thing that rotted inside her, turning to find the remaining guard only to have the remaining guard's zat fire find her first.

For the next few moments Buffy knew nothing but pain as the remembered electricity coursed down her nerve endings, dropping her to the floor and ripping a hoarse scream from her throat. It was worse than she remembered, and she was on the verge of blacking out as the world was reduced to a tunnel of pain and the roar of the ocean - so loud that everything else became lost under that crushing swell. Instinctively she fought the darkness, for to succumb meant more pain and terror, and inch by inch the darkness receded and the world crept back. It felt like it had taken forever, but as Buffy became aware of the hard floor, now refreshingly cool against her flushed skin, she saw that the Jaffa was only now lowering his zat, and that mere seconds had passed. That moment in which her opponent believed her to be subdued, that moment in which he paused, was his first mistake - and also his last.

On reflex alone she seized the primed zat that lay by her twitching fingers, the one which had been dropped by the Jaffa she had fried against the doorway, and fired it at the remaining guard, shooting the stun gun again, and again, and again - only to freeze in horror as the large man disappeared in a flash of blue light, as though he had never been.

"Oh God," she heard as the gun fell out of her trembling hands, and it took a moment, but in time she realized that the voice had been her own. With that realization, the world once more rushed in. She heard the wet breathing of the Jaffa with the broken nose, and the pained moan of the one she had kicked, but the guard who had been fried by the doorway was silent. He was lying beside her, and with a start she realized that his glassy, unseeing gaze had been staring at her all this time. "Oh God," she repeated, the cardinal slayer sin, that for which she had once condemned Faith, staring her blankly in the face. She had killed them. She had-

"SlayerBuffy, you must open the door!"

Startled, Buffy looked beyond the dead man's gaze to find Teal'c crouched on the floor opposite her, a hair's breath beyond the invisible doorway that had fried Mr. Crispy. "I- what?" she asked slowly, dumbly, as her gaze traveled curiously up the smooth dark planes of his somber face and to the gold tattoo that was stamped on his forehead.

"You must open the door so that we may be of assistance to you," he repeated, his words now coming slow and steady. "You must come here," he urged as he stood gracefully and waved to the right of the door, "and turn the symbol that resembles a coiled serpent."

"Right," Buffy agreed as she forced trembling limbs to hold her. "Gotta open the door," she continued as she crawled in the direction indicated. Slowly, and with anything but grace, she somehow managed to stand long enough to find and twist the snake before sliding down into a miserable ball on the floor.

The gold-plated hall no longer felt refreshing, but unbearably cold against her sweat-soaked skin - burning, achingly cold. It was now so cold that she had a hard time focusing on anything but the cold, until the whine of a discharging zat gun filled her with a wave of something deep and bitter. "No, Teal'c, don't!" she stammered as the Jaffa used her discarded zat to drop the two living guards with a single blast each.

"Don't worry, he's just stunning them," Jack assured as he slowly stepped into the hall, one of Daniel's arms over his shoulder and the archaeologist's head lolling against the older man's side.

Wincing at Daniel's gray pallor, she turned for a moment, watching as Sam collected weapons from the downed guards while Teal'c rolled them into their empty cell, before turning back. "Is he-"

"He's got a hard head. He'll be fine once we get him to Doc Fraiser," Jack interrupted as Teal'c bent low and accepted the colonel's burden as though it was a precious gift. Gently the tall Jaffa adjusted the younger man until he was hoisted over Teal'c's shoulders in a fireman's carry. "You okay?" Jack persisted as she dazedly met his eyes - eyes that were a wondrous shade of brown, and so filled with concern as he held a zat gun out for her to take.

"Yeah, fine," she returned as she shakily accepted the weapon, and then his hand as he pulled her to her feet and proved how much she had been lying. Immediately her knees buckled, and her vision was once more lined with gray as she felt Jack's strong arms arrest her fall and hoist her against his side.

"I'm lucky you're such a lightweight," he grunted as he wrapped her free arm around his shoulder, his long fingers curling her smaller digits into the black material of his shirt while the other arm wrapped tight around her waist. "I don't think my knees could take someone Danny's size," he muttered as Sam stepped before them and pressed another zat into her CO's free hand.

"Sir, we gotta go," she urged as she nodded her head towards where Teal'c was already making his way down the hall.

"Where we going?" Buffy breathed as she struggled to put one foot in front of the other, knowing that despite her efforts Jack still shouldered most of her weight.

"Outta here," Jack returned, his voice curt. "Just as soon as we find out where they hid the stargate - that and our point of origin," he amended, to which Buffy could only quirk a confused brow.

* * *

When they got back to Earth, Jack was going to get on both knees and kiss the concrete floor of the gate room. While his team had only been together for two years now, he knew without a doubt that they were the luckiest kids to walk the planet - or any planet, for that matter. Yes, they had a nasty habit of finding trouble, and poor Danny seemed to get whomped on more than anyone really deserved, but they also managed to find a way to waltz their way out again, and usually not too much the worse for wear. If their current luck continued, it looked as though this adventure would just be another mark on their scorecard.

They had been out of their cell and stealthily moving through Apophis' ship for a good twenty minutes now, and so far the alarm had yet to be raised. The architecture of the snakehead's new ship once more proved to work in their favor as there were plenty of places to hide whenever a troupe of Jaffa came by, their heavy, echoing steps providing plenty of warning. True Daniel had yet to stir, and Buffy was still staggering more than walking, but Teal'c seemed to know where he was going and that was good enough for him. This was the opportunity that they had been waiting for... and this time they had the petite, scantily dressed blonde that was hanging on his arm to thank for it.

As the team ducked behind yet another grouping of pillars to allow a small Jaffa squad to march past - where were they always marching to, anyhow? - he risked a glance to the young woman that leaned beside him. Her features were pale and dark rings lined her eyes, sweat beaded her brow, and her lips were set into a thin line. He could feel the zat-induced tremors from where her fingers were curled into the thin material at his neck, and despite her best efforts, he knew that he was supporting most of her weight - and yet the hand that held the zat was as steady as possible and her eyes focused as the clueless Jaffa passed their hidden alcove. She had taken down three Jaffa in hand to hand combat, had endured a close-range zat blast when she was already weakened, and yet she was still somewhat on her feet with her mind obviously still in the game.

Impressive didn't even begin to cover it. Impossible more closely fit the bill.

Buffy No-Last-Name, citizen of Sunny Hell, California in the good ole United States of America, was a study of contradictions. All of 5'2" with petite features, a girlish smile and haunted eyes, she packed a punch that could down a trained Jaffa and moved with deadly grace - and she had nearly shattered when faced with the death of her enemies. She acted like a trained soldier, a veteran of war, and yet she appeared the rookie when faced with the inevitable conclusion of a fight to the death. Contradictions all around, which led to many, many questions - questions that he intended on getting the answers to just as soon as he was done kissing the concrete of the gate room. Well, and maybe after Doc Fraiser got done sticking them full of holes with her big needles, patching up Danny, again, and pronouncing them fit for debriefing. Hmm... maybe he could squeeze in a shower and some clean clothes, as well.

"This way, ONeill," Teal'c cut in, breaking him from his musings as the tall Jaffa moved confidently down yet another corridor, Carter patiently waiting for him to get a move on so that she could effectively cover their six.

Without a word, Jack tightened his hold around Buffy's slender waist and followed suit, his zat primed and held ready in his free hand.

* * *

The door slid open with a quiet rumble and nimbly the small group slid through, Teal'c sealing the door behind them. The room was large and impressive, the ceiling at least two stories high, with the stargate sitting in a place of honor on a platform three steps up. To the side sat the DHD, quiet and nearly overlooked with the many oversized boxes and crates of the same golden metal sitting to either side. With a mute shake at the overconfidence of all snakeheads, or perhaps Apophis in particular, Jack couldn't help but wonder at why, after the last time, Apophis would once more riddle the gate room with plenty of places to hide.

"This it?" Buffy whispered, her voice both weak and raspy and sounding utterly unimpressed.

"That she is," Jack returned as he looked down upon her tired features. "You don't remember your last trip through?"

"I'm pretty sure I was dead," Buffy admitted before crinkling her nose. "Though I'm still a little hazy on what came between the dying and not dead."

"Oh, that. Yeah, we can explain that when we get home. Well, that and after we get you to sign about a million non-disclosure forms," Jack amended with a small smile. "Most people have to get clearance _before_ they see the things you have in the last 24 hours - or get shot by them."

"Yeah, my clearance from the last top-secret military project must still be in effect," she returned dryly, and at his questioning glance, she merely waved her zat in a listless flop. "Later. For now I'm more interested in what comes next. I don't know if you noticed, but these clothes are kind of drafty."

With a curt shake of his head at her glib response, Jack added yet another twenty questions to his already long list and turned to where in 2IC was inspecting the DHD. "Carter?"

"Everything looks fine here, sir, but we're still missing a point of origin," she returned with a helpless shrug. "Without that, there's nothing that I can do."

"So you're saying that we should have stopped and asked for directions?" Jack returned, the captain apparently unperturbed by his scowl as she arched a dark blonde eyebrow in a singularly Teal'c imitation.

"ONeill, we are no longer using the hyper-drives," the Jaffa added solemnly as he knelt beside Daniel.

"Meaning..."

"If we can determine the point of origin for our current position, we will be able to dial out of here," Carter supplied.

"So how do we determine-" Jack broke off as the inner ring of the stargate ground to life.

"Well, that would be one way," he heard the captain mutter as he tightened his hold on Buffy and hustled for the nearest cover he could find.

"There is no _way_ we're that lucky," he grumbled as he eased the girl to the floor behind a stack of crates. Crouching beside her, his admiration for the small blonde only climbed as she angled her body so that she could cover the spinning gate with her primed zat.

"I'm guessing that since we're hiding we don't want the big stone ring to be doing that," she muttered as the sixth chevron locked into place.

"I wouldn't say that," he returned, checking on his team. Teal'c and Carter were sheltered by a similar pile of crates, this one closer to the DHD, with Daniel most likely sprawled out of sight beside them. Then the seventh symbol locked into place, and as the gate exploded outward in a rush of roaring water, he knew that Carter now had the information that she needed.

"Wow - now that's something you don't see everyday. And coming from me, that's saying quite a lot," Buffy muttered, her eyes locked upon the vertical-standing wormhole.

"Actually, that all depends on what you do for a living," Jack returned as a garishly dressed, snide-looking man stepped through the wormhole, pausing for the briefest of moments before stepping forward. Eyes narrowed, Jack watched as four Jaffa followed in his wake, all wearing the serpent armor of Apophis.

"Lord Haremakhet, our god Apophis waits for you in his chambers," one of the men intoned, his rough voice sounding distant through his closed helmet as he led the goa'uld and the others to the door.

"I know that name," Buffy whispered as the five stepped into the hall, the door sliding closed in their wake.

"What?" Jack asked, distracted as he met Carter's eyes and jerked his head to the DHD.

"That name," Buffy repeated. "Daddy Snakehead mentioned it after they- uh oh," she finished, voicing his thoughts aloud as an alarm sounded throughout the ship.

"Looks like someone finally noticed that we're not where we're supposed to be," Jack sighed, realizing that it really had been too good to be true as he waved his hand at his 2IC. "Carter, dial it up," he ordered as he turned and pulled the small slayer to her feet, once more steadying her against his side. "Someplace friendly," he added, knowing that without their GDOs, home just wasn't an option at the moment. For now they would just have to do a bit of gate-hopping until they were sure they didn't have any tag-alongs, and then it would be off to the Alpha site.

"Yes sir!" Carter returned, shouting to be heard over the blaring siren as she punched in the seven coordinates and then pushed the transmit on the DHD, bringing the gate to life once again - which was, of course, when all hell broke loose.

He was already half way to the open wormhole when the door opened behind them, a tide of Jaffa nearly stepping on their heels. All it took was one staff blast to his side and he and Buffy were both on the ground, the smell of burnt flesh filling his nostrils before the searing agony took his very breath away.

"Colonel!"

"ONeill!"

It sounded as though the panicked voices of his team were coming to him from miles away, their words so very distant and echo-y from beneath the roar that surrounded him. Dimly he heard Buffy's vehement curses as she fired her zat from the floor beside him, but when an enemy zat blast clipped her shoulder, her tortured scream was enough to finally make the roar subside. Numbly he looked from Buffy's small, jittering limbs to were his team continued to lay down desperate cover fire from their scant cover near the open wormhole.

"Go," he whispered, seeing the brave futility of their actions in the moment it took for him to recognize the hopelessness of his situation and that of the girl that was battling to stay conscious beside him. They were too far from the gate, and he didn't have to look at his smoking side to know that they would never make it. But Carter and Teal'c were only steps away from freedom, with poor, unconscious Danny sprawled between them. There was only one way for this to go, and it was only his team's stubbornness that refused to allow them to acknowledge it. "Go, damnit!" he roared, his pain fueling his words as he caught and held the bleak, large blue eyes of one Samantha Carter. "That's an order, Captain," he rasped, knowing that while she couldn't possibly hear his voice over the sound of the weapons' discharge, she would understand nonetheless.

With a sharp nod, Carter turned to Teal'c, and while their exchange was lost to him, he felt his relief buoy his aching body as the large man cradled Daniel in his arms and made for the gate while she provided cover fire. Once they were safely through, she met his eyes again only briefly, her gaze promising their swift return - a promise that they both knew that she wouldn't be able to keep - before she, too, made for the gate, the wormhole disengaging only seconds after she had disappeared.

And just like that, it was over.

Serpent guards surged forward and kicked away their weapons, leaving both he and Buffy pained and defenseless, lying on the hard floor. She had won her battle with consciousness somehow, someway, but as Apophis stormed into the room, Klorel following in his father's footsteps, Jack was quite sure that the young woman would come to regret not allowing the darkness to claim her. At the snakehead's bidding, Jack felt strong hands dig into his arms and force him to his knees, charred flesh stretching, and then tearing open the cauterized wound. Distantly he knew that the pain took his breath away as the copper scent of his blood mingled with the nauseating stench of the staff burn, but his concentration was fractured and the world murky.

He was going into shock, and not even Apophis' furious tirade, or the gold-encrusted hand device was enough to pull him through. Instead, his thoughts only became more distant and fractured as the hand device activated, the searing heat blistering the skin on his forehead and destroying his mind.

So this is what death feels like, he mused, his last coherent thought before the darkness claimed him.

* * *

Buffy didn't know it, but Jack had been right. Already weakened by the goa'uld symbiote, she had then pushed her body well beyond its limitations, so that even kneeling was a chore that could only be accomplished thanks to the two Jaffa that held her swaying body upright. But she was conscious, and she was coherent in a world filled with sound and motion. The others were gone - escaped - but she and Jack were well and truly screwed. Apophis had paced, he had ranted and raved, and then he had taken his anger out on the colonel that was already so deep in shock that he didn't even seem aware of what was happening.

And then he was dead.

For a moment, Buffy could only stare at the older man's crumpled form. Jack's eyes were open, but his gaze was unseeing in a way that reminded her too much of her mother that day that she had found her on the couch, only a few months past. Jack was dead, and that meant that Buffy was well and truly alone. And it was Apophis' fault.

From somewhere deep inside, Buffy found the strength to lunge free of her captors' hold as she surged forward and punched the smug grin off of Apophis' face. It was a stupid move that wasn't intended on gaining anything but the satisfaction that came when she saw the snakehead wipe a trickle of blood from his lips - a trickle of blood that he repaid her in kind as he backhanded her with the strength of a vampire.

"Take her to Haremakhet - and deal with this," he hissed as he waved his hand negligently at Jack's body, like the ending of the colonel's life wasn't anything more than an inconvenience.

"Yes, my Lord," one of the Jaffa quickly replied, his head bowed low in his subservience. "It shall be done," he intoned - but at that moment, Buffy found that she no longer had the strength to care.

**To be continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 6**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** A big thank you to all of the wonderful reviewers that have been giving me the encouragement needed to keep going with this! Unfortunately, we have reached the point of prepared chapters, so no promises on the new duration between posts. I'll continue to try my best to get them out as soon as possible! Again, thank you!

* * *

So this was hell, Buffy thought as she stared blankly at the glowing walls of the sarcophagus. True, it wasn't the literal hell that she had visited when she had run away to LA for that summer, but as the panels slowly slid back, she realized that it was something that was infinitely worse. She had never been a whiz at languages, but she now understood the Goa'uld word for medical lab. The word had been seared into her memory from the very moment she had been led into the lab after Jack's death.

She had already been so weak and tired by that point. She was numb - the battle with Glory, her imprisonment, the invasion of the Goa'uld symbiote and being zapped by too many zat guns finally catching up with her. And then to lose their only chance at escape, to have to lay there and watch as Jack was killed... it was too much - at least, she had thought it was, up until she had recognized the Goa'uld who had dialed into Apophis' ship, thereby providing the final symbol needed for Jack's team to make their escape.

Haremakhet. His name would be forever seared into her mind as well - the name of the alien scientist that had ordered her to strip, and had then ordered the Jaffa to do it for her when she had refused. She would always remember the name of the creature who had brought her to that final low point, hours, perhaps even days after strapping her to a table, naked and vulnerable, so that he could run his tests and experiments. Apophis had wanted to know why she was different from other Tau'ri - why she was stronger, faster, and resistant - lethal to the Goa'uld symbiote. They couldn't understand that the difference was mystical. Supernatural. There would be no scientific answer - no quantitative reason that they could duplicate or eliminate. Instead Haremakhet was left to continue poking, prodding, and slicing as his tests became more invasive and debasing - and painful. God, she couldn't forget painful.

After a time, she had grown weaker as her body began to lose the battle against the damage being done. Her will was stretched and torn beneath her humiliation at the violation to her body, her pride shattered, and all hope of escape was instead replaced with a simple hope for the end. She had yearned for that peace when she had jumped into the portal to save Dawn, only to be thwarted when Death evaded her to leave her stranded as a prisoner. But at that point, she could feel that Death was coming again - she could feel it at the edges of her graying vision - and she had accepted its invitation with the grace that was left to her.

Only to be thwarted once more.

She didn't know how it was possible, but as the lighted panels dimmed and her eyes met the glittering gold ceiling above, she knew that any and all methods of escape were beyond her. Even death. She had felt it coming - she had recognized its icy fingers as it lay claim to her mortal body - and yet even now she could feel the steady beat of her heart as it pushed blood through veins that had been damaged, past skin that was once more unbroken, and she felt her full slayer strength lying in wait as rough hands seized her arms and bodily lifted her from her tomb. Her body had been rejuvenated, and even the snake that had been rotting within her seemed gone, the debilitating weakness no longer pulling at her limbs and causing her stomach to clench in painful waves, but it was all a lie, for the memories of what had been done to her were still too close. She couldn't pretend that it had all been a dream, which meant that she was resigned to this hell and whatever torture they brought next.

Numb, despondent, she allowed them to guide her through halls that twisted and turned until one door slid open to reveal a room that she recognized all too well - and only then did her resolve return in a burning rush of fear. The room was small and empty of objects, gold paneled walls meeting gold paneled ceiling and floor, with nothing but the solid, gold paneled alter to break the monotony. Even the alter itself seemed ordinary in an otherwise blindingly-golden room. It was around seven feet long, and three feet wide - a solid block with nothing but tiles of gibberish to catch the eye. And yet this room, filled with guards and priests, had become more terrifying to her than anything that her horror-filled mind could ever hope to devise.

"No!" she gasped, panic fueling her as she struck out against the guards, feeling her strength coil in her lean arms, rushing in the sharp snaps of her legs, and driving her to do the kind of damage that would forever prevent these people from ever hurting her again. This time there was no remorse as she took life after life, for the only thing that mattered was leaving this room and never returning.

She had been wrong before.

There had been one thing worse than the tests that Haremakhet had run on her. It was this room and all that had happened here. The humiliation and pain of Haremakhet's experiments had been debasing, mortifying, but the invasion that had taken place in this simple room had been a terror of the likes she had never before known, and had desperately prayed to never know again. She couldn't take it again. She _wouldn't._

"Jaffa, _kree!_"

Startled, Buffy violently twisted the neck of the battered guard and turned towards Apophis, her hands instinctively lifting protectively before her as she recognized the zat gun and the fire of blue electricity that slammed into her. Once more agonized screams were torn from her throat as the world dissolved into a mad mass of jittering limbs and blurred vision. She tasted blood and knew that she had bitten her tongue in her convulsions, but even the pain was a passing thought to the horror that her limbs were jerking out of her control. Without control, her fate was no longer in her hands, and she was powerless to prevent the remaining Jaffa from lifting her small body and placing it on the freezing alter. By the time the energy surge had passed, it was already too late as she felt the invisible iron bands encase her, once more preventing her from making the smallest of movements. She couldn't even turn her head to spit the mouthful of blood that coated her teeth and coursed down her throat, and was instead forced to swallow the copper fluid or choke on the bloody wad.

"Begin the rite of implantation," Apophis ordered as he waved a casual hand at someone that was beyond her line of vision.

She couldn't see what was happening, no matter how hard she strained, and instead Buffy was resigned to listen to the wet squelch as another mature symbiote was pulled from a Jaffa's pouch. Her heart was hammering hard and fast now, a rapid staccato beat that drowned out his approaching steps until the impassive face of another Jaffa priest finally came into view. Terror had stolen her voice, she realized, as her eyes strayed down, almost unwillingly, until she saw the hissing creature that was Evil personified.

She was helpless, powerless, and this demon knew this as it darted from the priest's hands and slid around her neck, under her head, and then tore through the newly healed skin at the base of her neck, invading her body and soul. It was every awful thing Buffy had ever imagined, worse than her worst nightmare - and yet, unlike in a nightmare, here she was unable to wake up. She could feel the mature symbiote as it wrapped itself inside of her - could feel its mind as it brushed against her own, and in that moment, as before, Buffy knew this creature, just as it knew her. She knew its name and the name of the queen who had spawned it. She knew its sordid history and every horror that it intended to commit with her own hands. It knew her secrets and desires, just as she knew its own baseless and craven wants - and that was before the true battle began.

Agony came and seared the very act of thinking from her fumbled grasp, and inexorably she felt its will dominate her own, its presence driving her down and back to a place where she would be helpless - forced to watch and feel, but no longer able to control ought save for her thoughts. But this prison was already inhabited by one she had placed there long ago - one that she kept hidden there until need drew her out. Terrified, weak, and helpless, Buffy was forced into that dark place, and then - then the Slayer awakened and Buffy knew that the true battle for dominance would begin. The Slayer's sole purpose was to defeat the demons that plagued the world, and this was an invasion in the truest and most perverse of ways.

Willingly, Buffy submitted to the Slayer in a way that her iron control had never before allowed. The mind of the symbiote was hideous, and so dirty that she felt its stain would never leave her. She couldn't fight this battle. She couldn't win this battle. No human could, for it was an impossible task. The Slayer, however, surged forth and did her sworn duty. The battle was longer than last time, the outcome less certain, for despite how strong she had become since her certain death in Haremakhet's hands, her body still suffered. And yet, when Buffy next opened her eyes, she did so of her own volition. The symbiote was dead and she was in control - and Apophis knew it.

Exhausted, Buffy didn't even have the strength to prevent the Goa'uld from turning her chin towards him, her eyes locked with his dark gaze. "The rites of implantation are to be repeated until they are successful," he stated, his words directed as much to his priests as Buffy herself, her body growing cold as his smile deepened. "And they will be successful. She is weary, and in the end, the goa'uld will emerge victorious. Her body, her mind, and all of her secrets will be ours."

She was wrong.

_This_ was Hell.

* * *

_Arrogance. Such blind arrogance. Can't they see themselves for what they are?_

_You displease me. Burning power through the hand, pressure and then release. Death._

_You please me. Soothing power, pressure and then easement. Life._

_So many lives. My control... Control. Power. Life or death. My choice._

_I am a God._

Groaning, Buffy slipped from her dream haze into a world that was far too real to her weakened body. She ached in places she didn't even know that she could ache, and her eyes felt heavier than the troll hammer she had used in the fight against Glory. Even breathing seemed to take effort, a concentration of each inhale and exhale as her hands convulsively tightened around the thin material that was bunched into her tight-fisted grip. Great shudders shook her small frame as the cold battled with the sweat that poured from her overheated skin. She was burning alive even as she froze solid, and the contradictions tore a soft whimper from her clenched lips.

"Shh, it's okay. I've got you," whispered a low voice against her ear as strong arms tightened around her. Belatedly, her sluggish mind began to awaken and she realized that she was cradled in someone's lap, like a small child, her body curled into the hard planes of another's chest with her head tucked under a chin that scratched her with sharp bristles, and her hands fisted in his shirt.

His shirt. Black shirt. Cotton. Jack's shirt. Jack's voice. Colonel Jack O'Neill. Dead Colonel.

Jerking back, Buffy somehow found the energy to try and pull away, to try and scramble from the dead man's grip, her wide, horrified eyes locked with those of an animated corpse. A living, breathing animated corpse whose arms were too strong and refused to let her go, whose warm breath fanned against her face as he looked at her with serious brown eyes, and whose heart beat slow and steady beneath her twisted grip in his thin black tee. "But... you're dead," she murmured, her voice low and scratchy as she abandoned her efforts as fruitless. She was too weak, and besides, it wasn't like she'd never been in the embrace of a dead man before.

"Not anymore," Jack returned with a small, tired smile. "Apophis and I go back awhile, and that kind of death would have been far too easy. Instead, I got a first-class trip to the sarcophagus," he explained.

"Yeah, I've seen it," Buffy acknowledged with a small frown. "I've actually had the occasion to visit it twice already," she added as she tried to shift into a position where she could have this conversation while at least pretending that she wasn't cuddled up with a near stranger. As before, the symbiote decomposing in her body made her feel just as bad as the first time - maybe even worse, but that could have been her recent foray into the tortures of being a lab rat that was speaking.

"Sorry, you've been pretty out of it since they brought you in a few hours ago," Jack apologized, interrupting her musings as he apparently understood her thinking, and with a sheepish smile he helped to settle her on the floor beside him. He left the question of what had happened to her while she was away unasked - for which Buffy was grateful. Either that or he already knew. Maybe it was obvious.

With a soft sigh, Buffy stretched out her legs before her - and frowned as she saw that her skimpy outfit and gaudy jewelry had been replaced with a simple brown dress that did absolutely nothing for her petite figure and which screamed destitution. For a moment, she contemplated being insulted by this fact, and annoyed that someone had changed her clothes for her, but then she was reminded that she had been pretty much naked since the last time she had seen Jack, and decided to be grateful that at least this time she had a little more protection from the cold. Besides, while she wasn't sure if she could claim that she had been through worse than Haremakhet's tortures in her relatively short stint as the slayer, she did know that no matter how awful the memories, it would take a hell of a lot more to break her. What was the essential raping of her body compared to the raping of her soul? Yes, they could strip her body down, but they had no where near the power that Angelus had once wielded, not to mention that evil little thing called Cancer. "So back to the sarcophagus thing," she murmured, forcing her mind away from too-recent horrors and on the conversation at hand. "What does the glowy box have to do with you being not dead?" she continued forcefully as she finally noted her surroundings - a familiar ten foot by fifteen foot cell of uncompromising gold gaudiness, dimly lit by lights she had never been able to locate, only with the added addition of what seemed to be a goa'uld toilet.

"Everything," Jack supplied as he lifted his hand to adjust a baseball cap that was no longer there. Annoyance flashed across his weathered features, and his hands jittered in his lap, as though they were unaccustomed to sitting still. "Carter could explain the science of it better, but basically it can heal just about anything, and even brings the recently dead back to life," he admitted as he settled on drumming his long fingers against his knee.

"Oh," Buffy murmured, her eyes trained on the staccato beat of pink flesh against green camouflaged cloth before his words finally penetrated. "_Oh_," she repeated, her eyes growing wide as everything clicked into place. She remembered the energy of Glory's portal ripping her to pieces, the pain bringing darkness, and then the darkness erased by the light of the sarcophagus. She remembered her body growing weaker and weaker during Haremakhet's testing, until darkness took her.. and then once more the light of the sarcophagus obliterated Death's dark hold. She _had_ died, but Apophis' damn sarcophagus had robbed her of that opportunity every single time. "Jerk," she muttered, her eyes narrowed before she caught Jack's wry smile and met his amused glance. "Well, I guess that's good news then," she offered, even though she was really having a hard time convincing herself to the truth of her words.

"No, not really good news," Jack countered easily as his fingers finally drew still, his head falling back against the wall behind them.

"So... not being dead is bad news?" Buffy countered as she paused and then looked once more around their all-too-familiar cell. "Okay, seeing how death could be a possible improvement," she admitted before her gaze slid back to the man that was stretched out beside her, "but that seems like a pretty pessimistic view. Isn't this the point where you go all optimistic and tell me how your team is coming to the rescue?"

"Nah, I was saving that part till later," Jack confided as his fingers once more got to drumming against his bent knee. "I was referring to prior experience with the sarcophagus. Let's just say that Daniel spent a little too much time with one earlier this year and it didn't exactly enhance the finer points of his personality."

"So... more time in the sarcophagus makes a grumpy Buffy?" she queried, a slight smile touching her lips.

"In a way," Jack agreed as he abandoned his drum solo in favor of pacing the cell. Amused, Buffy watched as he aimlessly wandered back and forth, occasionally offering the pretense of checking on the invisible shielding, but mainly content in his constant motion. In a flash of insight, she realized that this was less a demonstration of nervous energy, and instead an inherent part of the colonel's personality. "Though according to the Tok'ra," he continued, oblivious to her scrutiny, "the more time spent in a sarcophagus means the more damage done to your soul, if you believe in such things, or whatever it is that makes you who you are - not to mention an addiction that puts cocaine to shame."

"Oh," Buffy returned, her smile slipping. "Well let's try and avoid that, then," she murmured as she drew her knees up to her chest. She had been put in the damn thing twice already, and while she felt more sick than anything, she didn't _think_ that she felt any less soulful than normal. Would more time in the sarcophagus be the equivalent of an instant happy for Angel? The thought did little to make her feel better, and Buffy quickly turned to Jack to help banish the bad memories that seemed so much closer due to just how weak and overall rotten she felt. "Listen, I'm really sorry about... well, everything," she offered as Jack finally paused in his incessant movements and turned to her with narrowed eyes. "I know that I was slowing you down, and your team-"

"Is off of this damn ship, and that's thanks to you," Jack interrupted, his features unreadable.

"But they left without you-"

"My command, my decision," he cut in again, his expression softening somewhat as he moved closer and settled beside her. "Besides, you're a civilian. It's my duty-"

"Yeah, speaking of duties," Buffy interrupted with a weak smile, "I'm pretty sure that mine outranks yours. Sacred duty over sworn duty, and all that." With a small shrug, she let her head settle back against the hard wall, her eyes slipping closed as she wrapped her arms around her knees and attempted to conserve some amount of warmth. "This is what I was born to do, whether or not I always wanted to admit that. And while yes, my friends and I did manage to save Earth from total meltdown, we're still ultimately responsible for your team getting pushed out of the wrong gate."

"We knew what we were signing up for-"

"What? Demons, apocalypses, and slayers?"

After a brief pause, Buffy felt Jack's shoulder shrug against her. "Okay, so I don't remember any of that being in the fine print. I think the Air Force tends to stick with the more broad definitions, like 'threats to our nation,' and the real stickler, 'do what you're told no matter what you're told.'"

"Ah, right... I always knew there was a reason that I never enlisted," Buffy admitted as she felt Jack hesitate for a moment before sliding his arm around her to pull her against his side, sharing his warmth with her.

"Didn't meet the age requirements?" he teased, causing a smile to pull at her lips.

"I'm twenty years old, not ten," she reminded as she dug an elbow into his side. "Besides, aren't you too old to be playing army?"

"Air Force, and forty-eight is not old. Well, it's not _that_ old," he clarified gruffly. "And you're just upset because you probably didn't meet the height requirement."

"Okay, that's a low blow," she muttered grumpily before silence fell once more. At least this time it was a more comfortable silence as Buffy allowed her thoughts to drift - happier times and happier places causing a serene smile to pull at her lips. While it was true that she felt sick enough to want to roll over and die, having Jack for company was a soothing consolation. His wit was sharp, his tone sarcastic and gruff, but his hard exterior seemed like a poor cover - either that or he had a weakness for sickly blonde girls that looked like death warmed over.

"I doubt that we'll manage to engineer another escape attempt," Jack mused, and though she wasn't looking at him, she just knew that he was glaring at the shielded doorway. "Especially since all of my geniuses are hopefully safely back on Earth, not to mention my Jaffa muscle. Which means that we'll just have to hang around until the others can get back with the cavalry."

Snorting in disbelief, Buffy rolled her eyes as another shiver wracked her small form. "And how realistic is the hope for a rescue party?" she asked, deciding for the moment not to mention the fact that in her line of work, she _was _the cavalry. "Weren't you and Sam going on and on about how it was impossible to use the gate-thingy to get onto a spaceship that never stays in the same place for very long?"

"Now who's being the pessimist?" Jack returned, his voice clipped as his body tensed beneath her cheek.

Sighing, Buffy closed her eyes and relaxed her own aching body against his, feeling the heavy drug of sleep trying to drag her down. She understood what he was doing - he needed to believe in his friends and in their unspoken promise to return for him. He needed to hang onto that hope, no matter how futile, for it was the one thing that allowed him to hang onto his brevity, to hold onto his strength and share it with her. He talked like a man who had been in such a situation before, and from the obvious fact that he had survived whatever hell he had endured, he had the faith in his friends, and perhaps even in himself, to survive it again. All in all, that meant that his request was something that she would strive to grant - of course, she always had her own cornerstone to depend upon. "Well as soon as your friends get back home, they can let _my_ friends know what's going on, and between the two groups, we'll be out of here in no time. We've always managed to find a way to fix..." she trailed off, finally noticing the slow shake of his head. "They won't find my friends?" she guessed, her frown deepening.

"Buffy, you never even told us your last name," Jack explained, his voice gentle. "You explained a lot, but you did it in a way that never really gave us anything concrete to work with. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. You live on the Hellmouth, otherwise known as Sunnyhell, in southern California - which I doubt is the real name of your town. You have a friend who is a witch, a magic store owner who is your watcher..." he trailed off with a helpless shrug. "Is Buffy even your legal name, or is it shortened from something else?"

"Elizabeth," Buffy grudgingly admitted as she sagged against him, her hopes dwindling even further. She was so used to living a lie that she hadn't even realized how little information she had given when she had admitted her supernatural side. Even while locked in a prison cell on a spaceship, she still worked to protect her friends and family... and now that instinctive urge was going to prevent her and Jack from getting the help that they so desperately needed.

"Even if they were able to find your friends, my team still wouldn't be able to approach them with the truth of what happened to you. We work for a top-secret government project, and your friends would need the highest of clearance in order to learn about the Stargate program. I'm sorry."

"So am I," Buffy admitted before slowly shrugging her shoulders. "I guess we'll just have to hang on till your friends get here, then," she agreed sleepily, even as she vowed that the next chance she had, she was taking it. They had to get out of there - preferably _before_ she had to endure another visit to the implantation chamber - and without Willow, Giles, and the others working on a magical solution, she knew that her time was limited. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up.

"You keep it up as long as we have to," Jack replied, startling her with his response to a thought that she had never intended to speak out loud. "As long as we have to."

**To be continued...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 7**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** I just knew that the 'Elizabeth' thing was going to come back and bite me in the ass. Thus, for the nitpickers: while we never see Buffy referred to as Elizabeth anywhere in the series, I like to think that we also never receive firm confirmation that Elizabeth is _not_ her official name - at least not so firm that I can't delude myself into this little bit of creative license. So yes, in my universe I'm going with the fervent belief that Joyce and Hank didn't _really_ name their child Buffy at birth. The girl had enough to shoulder when her calling came-a-knocking - need we _really _saddle her with such a name from birth onwards? Thus, even though it may only be in my delusions (but they _are_ my delusions) Joyce and Hank Summers named their daughter Elizabeth Anne Summers, but have always used one of the shortened versions of Elizabeth (like Liz or Beth). snickers Poor kid.

And thanks again for all of the words of encouragement! You guys always keep me writing!

* * *

_"We just have to hang around until the others get back with the cavalry."_

When Jack had spoken those words to Buffy - what had to be well over three weeks ago - he hadn't allowed himself to believe that it would really take his team this long to return. Somehow he had landed himself in yet another impossible situation, but this time even he had to admit that it was not only unreasonable, but completely unfair to place such high expectations of rescue on his team, even if they had always managed to miraculously come through for him in the past. Yet ever since his imprisonment in Iraq so many years ago, or after the more recent horror of losing Charlie, he was at a loss as to where else to put his faith if not in the team members that had never failed him. Gods were fickle, but his team? They were worth a hundred of any religion.

Not that any sort of faith was coming very easily these days.

His watch had been taken about the same time that his favorite cap had disappeared, and without his dependable timepiece he was powerless to tell exactly how long he and Buffy had been locked in their own little prison. For a while he had tried to mark the passage of time by when they were given food and water, but all too soon he realized that such luxuries were more after thoughts of their ever-changing guards, and never reliable. He had then attempted to judge the passage of time by how often he was taken before Apophis so that the slimy bastard could get his thrill out of beating him senseless - more for personal enjoyment than out of any real desire to pump him for information about Earth. However, that, too, had proven unreliable as Apophis' interest in him had waned - something to do with another System Lord, Sokar, and the rising hostilities between the two super powers - or so he had gathered from snippets of overheard conversations. Unwillingly, he had then been forced to try and track the passage of time by how often the guards came for Buffy in order to stick yet another snake in her head in hopes that this one would finally gain control - but even that proved impossible, as the frequency of the horrors that she faced had only increased with the inevitable passage of time.

He had lost count of how many occasions she had been taken while he was helpless to do anything but receive a good beating for his protests and fruitless efforts to keep her safe. In a way, he couldn't help but feel that perhaps this was the real torture that Apophis had devised for him - for what could be worse than sitting by and watching as someone literally wasted away before him? Buffy was steadily growing weaker, hour by hour, minute by minute, and there had been no reprieve from the deceptive healing powers of a sarcophagus. Instead they would come for her, Jack would fight, he would be struck down and Buffy would be taken. Time would pass and then they would return, Buffy's unconscious form being dragged like a broken doll between them. She would sleep, her body wracked with tremors and her pale, sweaty brow creased in pain. She would wake, she would reassure him that she hadn't yet been defeated, that she was still 'hanging on,' and then she would joke, smile, and talk to him about any and everything except for the horrors of their current surroundings. At these times he would force away his burning anger, he would smile, he would laugh, and he would join in her lie as he talked about hockey, the Simpsons, his favorite opera, and most often, his team. He would do anything, by this point, to keep her sane.

* * *

_"I spy with my little green eye something... gold."_

_"Buffy," Jack sighed, his voice tinged with annoyance, "I thought we had agreed that playing the 'I Spy' game was an act of futility. As I pointed out the last time you insisted on playing, everything is gold here, aside from my green pants, black tee-shirt, and slightly gray hair, and your brown dress and very dirty blonde hair - all of which we covered in the first five minutes."_

_"Yes, but if everything is gold, that means that you have lots to choose from," Buffy argued from where she lay against the back wall, her smile bright despite her pale pallor and the fevered sweat that beaded her upper lip._

_"Which means that it will take me forever to figure out what you spied," Jack countered, his arms crossing determinately across his chest. He didn't know how, but she was even worse than Daniel in somehow getting him to give into whatever she wanted, no matter how hard he valiantly tried to resist her fluttering hazel eyes or the pout of her lips._

_"What? Do you have somewhere else you have to be?" she countered, and with that smug grin, he knew that he had lost. Again._

_With a put-upon sigh, Jack let his head thump back against the wall behind him. "Is it the... little circle with the squiggly line by the upside down triangle in the top left of the wall to our right?"_

_"Nope - but good guess," Buffy assured with a glittering smile. "Try again."_

* * *

At times, however, Colonel Jack O'Neill couldn't help but wonder if all of their lies and pretenses were for nothing. There was no cavalry coming - they both knew this - and yet Jack also knew that saying these words out loud would be the equivalent of breaking whatever was left of the young woman that clung to him as though he were the only thing that could keep her sane. Saying the words out loud would finally smother the fire that still burned in her eyes, and extinguish the hope that their moment would come, the one little break that they needed in order to finally steal their freedom.

Never in his life had Jack been a man of inaction. It just wasn't in his nature to sit and wait for help to come, and as he had learned during their captivity, the same could be said for Buffy as well. Thus, despite his urgings to wait for the cavalry to arrive, both he and the small slayer had plotted their escape whenever the memories of their past became too painful. They had put their not-inconsiderable experience together, and he had lost count of the number of bids for freedom they had attempted - only to fail dismally, time and time again. Buffy was sick and weak - barely able to stand on her own - and the Jaffa guards had learned long ago not to underestimate either of them.

"No," Buffy whispered, breaking Jack from his dark thoughts as she twisted his tattered tee-shirt in her small fists, obviously lost in whatever dreams held her captive.

"Hey, hey - it's okay," he murmured, his arms tightening around her as his gaze remained riveted upon the unadorned golden wall, as always eerily lit by some muted, unidentifiable light source. Again he cursed the fact that there was no bed on which the tired slayer could rest, no blankets to cover her shivering form, and instead he had done the only thing he knew how as he drew the trembling young woman into his arms, cradling her in his lap, any and all personal boundaries long ago forgotten during their forced imprisonment.

* * *

_"I have to go to the bathroom," Buffy announced, long past the point of blushing._

_The proclamation caused little more than the arch of a slender, dark brow - one interrupted by a thin scar that she hadn't yet got around to asking about - before the older man's features creased in concern. "Need any help?" he asked as he stood as quickly as his battered body would allow and moved until he was hovering over her slouched form. And though she wanted to bristle at the assumption that she would ever sink that low, reality instead reasserted itself with the understanding that soon that offer wouldn't be so unwarranted._

_"Thanks, but I think I can manage," she returned, her tone dry as she painfully accepted his assistance in at least gaining her feet before beginning the slow shuffle to the toilet that was located in the back corner of their cell. Upon reaching her destination, she paused to ensure that Jack was in his assigned position before the invisible shielding to their cell, his back to her with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets as he rocked on his heels - the only privacy that could be afforded. Nodding in satisfaction, she then hiked up the hem of her sweat-stained brown dress. With a sigh of relief she sank onto the cold rim of the toilet, her aching muscles and quivering thighs showing their appreciation for the brief respite from even the small chore of holding her weakened body upright._

_Per usual, however, her bladder refused release until all impending tinkling could be masked, and with that thought in mind, she commented upon the first thing she could think of, her stray thoughts prompted by the glimpse of her legs, her glorious tan now nothing more than a memory. "Have you noticed how not hairy I am?" she asked, her question directed at Jack's back, and with the words, her bladder finally released its hold. Quickly she hurried on, thankful that the colonel didn't turn at her question. "I mean, not that I ever was a really hairy person, but after this long even I should have gorilla legs and arm pits. I should be utterly disgusting right now, but my legs are so smooth that you'd think I just got done waxing them - and I'm not talking about the cheap wax you buy in a box at the store, but the really good stuff you get when you go to a salon and they do the dirty deed for you."_

_For a moment there was silence, but Buffy was finished by this point, and didn't mind the pause quite so much as she readjusted her dress and then began the slow shuffle back to her corner of their little cell - all the while fondly remembering the simplest luxury of toilet paper. Even the cheap, thin stuff that felt like sandpaper would be a welcome change. When the silence continued, Buffy paused in her slow lumber long enough to notice that the colonel's back had grown stiff, the muscles taut and quivering. "Jack?" she asked, concern coloring her voice - and not for the first time, she cursed the weakness that prevented her from going to the older man in the same manner he had always unfailingly done for her. "Jack, what's wrong?" she persisted, on the verge of making the attempt, weakness be damned, when he finally turned and allowed her to see the pain that caused his thin face to crease and appear that much older._

_"I had noticed," he admitted, and for a moment Buffy was confused by the solemn admission - unable, at first, to connect his grim statement with the seemingly-innocent question that she had posed. When she did, his response seemed so off-kilter for the triviality of the matter that she couldn't help but shake her head in puzzled confusion. "I think they must have done something when they prepared you to be host for Klorel's girlfriend," he explained, only adding to her confusion._

_"You mean aside from making me look like I was from an ancient Egyptian whorehouse, and besides trying to drown me in the most god-awful perfumed bath possible - which you were right, I am missing right now," she admitted as she took a whiff of her under arms. "But aside from that, and from putting some of the gaudiest gold jewelry on my arms and around my neck... they also made my legs and arm pits not hairy?" she asked, carefully measuring each statement with narrowed eyes and a small frown._

_"I'm sorry, Buffy," Jack whispered as he quickly crossed the distance and settled on the floor before her, his larger hands catching her own and squeezing them tightly, obviously misinterpreting her expression. "I can't imagine the snakes wanting to bother with such mundane things as shaving the host's legs every day, and I wouldn't be surprised if they've come up with a way to permanently make it so they don't have to."_

_"So what you're saying is that it's permanent?" Buffy asked, her frown twitching. "That I'll never have to shave either my legs or my arm pits again?" she prodded, waiting for Jack's solemn nod before a large grin spread across her face. "Well, it's about damn time that something good came of this!" she exclaimed as she settled happily against the cold wall._

_"You're not upset?" Jack returned almost hesitantly, in the way of all men when they're confounded by the fairer sex._

_"Upset? Why would I be upset?" Buffy returned as she stared at Jack in disbelief. "Don't you understand how annoying it is to have to shave your legs nearly every day in order to keep them smooth? You go even one day of being lazy, and suddenly you're pricklier than a cactus and liable to scratch yourself or anyone that dares brush against you. No, the only choice is to either suffer through the horrors of shaving your legs every single day, or else wait enough time that the hair becomes so long that it's actually grown soft-"_

_"Eww," Jack interrupted, a grimace twisting his features._

_"Double eww," Buffy agreed with a guilty smile at remembered laziness before reaching out and fondly tugging at the dark, gray-speckled whiskers that covered Jack's cheeks and chin. "You're just grumpy because they didn't give you the no-hair treatment - although maybe the treatment doesn't work on old-"_

_"Stop right there," Jack cut in, his eyes narrowing in warning, "unless you plan on snuggling with the toilet when you need a pillow later on."_

_"Alright, alright," Buffy laughed, holding her hands up in surrender - ignoring the tremors that had long-since become a way of life in their imprisoned world - and instead allowed her head to fall on Jack's shoulder as his arm dropped familiarly around her shoulders. "Snuggling wins again," she sighed, feeling him draw her closer to his side. "Although I can't help but wonder... think they do boob jobs as well?"_

* * *

Slowly, day by day, the snakes were wearing her down. Each time the internal struggle lasted a bit longer, and with each new goa'uld death, he was helpless to watch as another part of her became lost to the battle. "It's okay," he repeated, his eyes moving to the crown of her tousled blonde head. "It has to be," he added, his low words rumbled for her ears alone as he sheltered her with his larger frame, his eyes carrying the unspoken fear that things would never be okay again.

"No, it's not," Buffy whispered, surprising him as she slowly tilted her head, her wide, hazel eyes looking far too large in her pale, gaunt face. She had only been returned from the last failed implantation a few hours ago, and it was unusual that she would be awake so soon. "They're coming," she whispered, her eyes telling him that once more she heard footsteps that were just beyond his hearing, and finally he understood what had woken her from the sleep her failing body so desperately needed. Truly, it was the only thing that could have woken her by this point, and Jack felt his anger burn brighter and hotter than ever. It was too soon - too damn soon for them to be taking her back to have yet another snake stuck in her head. He knew this, and by the fear that he had long ago recognized in her shadowed gaze, Buffy knew this too.

"Buffy," he murmured, her name the best reassurance that he could offer as she burrowed her face into the crook between his shoulder and neck. He could feel her warm breath fan against his skin, but it was the warm splash that soaked into his torn collar that caused him to stare down at her tangled hair in growing misery. He wasn't disturbed by the fact that she was crying silent tears, for truth be told, after all that she had endured these past weeks - and especially those things she refused to speak on - even the strongest of men would have broken down long ago. No, his main concern was that these were the first tears she had shed, and to do so now could only mean that she, too, understood that the end was finally drawing near.

"I can't do it again - not so soon," she whispered desperately, voicing his fears aloud as he instinctively crushed her small, trembling body again him. In the last few implantations they had foregone using a newly matured symbiote for one which had abandoned its previous host to try for dominance. The snakes were growing more confident in their coming victory, and all it took was one look at the terrified young woman that he cradled in his lap to see why.

"Buffy, you just have to hold on a little-"

"They're taking me over," she interrupted, her head tilting back until he could see her haunted gaze. "They're overriding my thoughts. They're polluting me. The last one - he was so strong and he's still in here," she continued as she tapped her head with a hand that shook with fatigue, sickness, and a desperate fear. "His thoughts, his memories - they're all here! I can't win again! I can't feel what they feel - remember what they've done as though I-" she broke off as the guards finally appeared in the corridor outside their hellish prison. "Jack, please don't let me go," she begged, and in that moment, Jack knew that this time would be the last that he would see Buffy as she was ever again.

* * *

_"So do you really think that they're still bugging our cell?" she asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. Already she felt her energy waning as sleep once more caused her to smother a large yawn against her cloth-covered knees._

_"What? You think they already got tired of hearing about Danny's tendency to add to the gray in my hair? Or how much Carter always bored me with her geek-speak? Or of all the embarrassing stories Teal'c would tell us about Apophis-"_

_"Most of which I still think you're making up," Buffy interrupted with a sly smile._

_"Your doubting hurts more than words can say," Jack sighed dramatically, his eyes twinkling. "But even if they get tired of my own amusing stories, what about yours? Hyena packs and the consequences of drinking too much beer?" he countered, this time referring to her own carefully structured tales of her past. It was amazing, really, how much they could tell each other without actually sharing anything that could harm their friends or help Apophis - if Apophis was even still listening._

_"You say that, and yet I bet that there's a room full of Jaffa on this ship, crowded around some doohickey with a bowl of popcorn, laughing their asses off at our collective wittiness," she countered with a tired sigh - a small smile curving her lips. "You just wait... you'll see," she breathed, her eyes slipping shut almost of their own accord._

_The last thing she knew before sleep claimed her was the comforting feeling of Jack's arm pulling her closer until she was settled against his side._

* * *

The armed Jaffa triggered the door and two of their brethren stepped confidently into their prison, their heavy boots ringing off of the metal floor as two others followed them in with their zats primed and aimed. Even now they were wary, their eyes cold and hard as they seized Buffy's too-slender arms and tried to muscle her from his tight grip. But Jack wasn't letting go - not this time, and instead he cursed them in every language he knew as his arms became bands of steel that held Buffy against his chest. Her fingers were dug like claws into his back, breaking skin and drawing blood, but the pain only fueled his determination against the hopeless battle.

And it was a hopeless battle.

They both knew this, even as they struggled to hold on to one another - and yet their struggles were in vain.

With one swift stroke, an armed Jaffa pistol-whipped Jack with his zat'nikatel, causing the colonel's head to explode in a wash of bright colors. Immediately he felt his empty stomach contract as he sagged helplessly against the wall, his arms falling away and a feeling of emptiness consuming him as Buffy was brutally torn from his grip.

"Jack! Let me go! Jack!"

"Buffy?" he returned, his voice a hoarse whisper as he swung his head drunkenly towards the small slayer's panicked voice. The world was spinning chaotically around him, and once more he felt his stomach contract, trying to push out what little it contained as the nausea seized him. Groaning, he fought against the urge to curl into the pain and instead forced himself to his unsteady feet. With slow, faltering steps he moved towards the shielded doorway only to realize that the guards were long-since departed, and even Buffy's cries were a dim remembrance. Cursing, he slammed his closed fist against the wall, only to stumble against the smooth surface as the world tilted - the hammering in his head growing deeper as gray began to edge his double vision.

Hissing, Jack finally succumbed to the inevitable as he backed against the wall and slid down until his butt rebounded off of the hard floor - adding yet another bruise to the assortment that he already sported. Eyes slipping shut of their own volition, he dropped his head against his raised knees, unwilling or unable to prevent his dark thoughts from turning to his team and the realization that they weren't coming. He was being unfair, and he knew it, for if there had been any way possible for them to return, they would have done so long ago - and yet that thought did little to ease the hurt betrayal that darkened his memories of the teammates that had become his family in the two years that they had been working together. Carter, Teal'c, Daniel... he would have died for each and every one of them, and to feel abandoned by them now...

With a pained groan, Jack crushed the heel of his hand against his closed eyes, seeing a patchwork of bright lights behind his closed lids. He was too tired, too hungry, and in far too much pain to allow his thoughts to continue on this dark thread, and instead he allowed the fatigue to claim him. He was so tired, so sore, and he felt so heavy...

With a startled oath, Jack felt the world tilt, and only his instinctive curling into a small ball prevented his already injured head from cracking open against the far wall as his body slammed into the hard surface. For a long moment, he lay there - stunned and hurting - before common sense once more reasserted its hold and he recognized the rocking of Apophis' mothership for what it was. Ignoring his assorted aches and pains, Jack managed to roll with the next upheaval of his world, all earlier condemnations for his missing team forgotten beneath a wave of relief.

They were here.

His team had finally come for him.

**To be continued...**


	8. Chapter 8

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 8**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks again to all who have reviewed! Your encouragement and gentle nudges for another post have been both the Red Bull to get my muse jump-started, as well as the Yaeger with which it drunkenly careens through every roadblock along the way. What can I say? They go so well together!

* * *

With a blossoming smile, Jack stumbled towards the shielded doorway, his steps rocking with each roll of the ship until he was positioned right before the invisible line between his cell and freedom. Tentatively he reached forward, only to curse loudly as the intact shielding rebuffed his attempt with a sharp spark of electricity.

"Damnit, come on," he muttered, his eyes darting to either side of the empty hall. _This_ was the opportunity that he and Buffy had been waiting for all of these weeks. He knew it deep inside that the time had come, and while it was inconvenient that Buffy wasn't technically with him at the moment, this fact did little to dampen his burgeoning hope. All he had to do was avoid the guards, find Buffy, and then find the ring room so that he and the small slayer could relocate to whatever ship his team had managed to dig up - the ship that, no doubt, was responsible for the current bombardment against Apophis' mothership.

Easy.

No problem.

-If he could only get the hell out of this damn prison cell.

He staggered as the ship rocked again, but this time he didn't miss the flicker of energy that marked the shielded doorway. Slowly, he once more reached a finger out - but this time he couldn't help the joyous flash of teeth as he encountered nothing but air. "Bingo," he muttered, and for a brief moment, elation buoyed him as he stepped into the hall on his own power for the first time in... hell, too long, but even that moment passed as his mind instantly shifted gears. There would be time for celebration later. Right now he had to concentrate on finding Buffy and getting the hell off of this ship.

Turning in the direction that the guards had taken the small slayer, Jack hurried down the deserted corridor on silent feet. He had been out of commission for a long time, had been without proper food and water for even longer, not to mention his poor sleeping patterns and the harsh beatings he had endured, but Jack refused to allow any of these problems to affect him now as adrenaline burned his weariness away and sharpened his thoughts, bringing him a clarity that he hadn't even realized he had been missing. It was the clarity that came with the soldier at war, and he welcomed the change as his features became hard, his movements quick and silent, and each action premeditated.

He was a ghost, and those Jaffa guards that he was unable to avoid were taken down quickly and permanently. Within minutes of leaving his cell he was in possession of a staff weapon - more cumbersome than his preferred P-90, and most definitely that of a zat, but a weapon nonetheless, and one he held with easy familiarity. The ship was in chaos, explosions filling the halls with blinding, fiery light as Jaffa soldiers thundered past, their straight, proud lines broken, the shrieks and screams of the human slaves echoing down corridors filled with greasy smoke. It was madness, and Jack couldn't help the pride that filled him at the utter devastation his team was wreaking upon the crippled ship.

Yet it was a pride that was fleeting when Jack overheard a snippet of goa'uld modulated tones over a feminine voice that he knew all too well. He was in a random corridor, wide and silent - yet untouched by the devastation that was throwing the rest of the ship into chaos. The words had been a softly issued command, drifting from a nearby room, yet instead of racing, he felt his heart grow heavy and still as he slowly moved to an open doorway and stepped fully into the small room beyond. He had never been in the chamber before, but he easily recognized it from Buffy's fractured descriptions.

A golden, empty void - save for the golden altar that sat in the middle of the room.

Always this room had been filled with armed Jaffa and priests, and this time was no different, but Jack didn't even spare the others the smallest of glances as instead his eyes locked upon the young woman that stood with her back to him. She was naked, but her body had been cleaned - the grime scrubbed away to reveal skin that was regaining its vibrant, healthy glow before his very eyes, her hair a cascade of shimmering gold that fell mid-back. She was standing without assistance, all beautiful curves and dimpled skin, with bare hints of the weakness that had plagued her petite form for so many weeks - and the sight alone nearly undid him then and there.

"Buffy?" he whispered, his newly acquired staff weapon forgotten as her face turned towards him, the fractured light flickering over familiar hazel eyes, smooth cheeks, upturned lips, a long, slender neck and the curve of one small breast. "Buffy-" he began again, his voice cracking as her hazel eyes flashed a violent gold, stunning him into taking the smallest of steps back as once more he was thrust into that place where all that was as it should be was torn away and turned to dust. It was Skaara and Kawalsky, and even Carter - everyone who had ever had their lives stolen or tainted by the Goa'uld, all mixed into the small blonde that eyed him coolly before waving to the guards that filled the small room.

"Take him," she ordered in the same goa'uld modulated tones that had summoned him into his worst nightmare. Numb, defeated, Jack allowed the guards to do exactly that - his eyes never once leaving Buffy's naked back as she allowed a Jaffa priest to dress her in pants that were of a deep burgundy material that was both loose and flowing, sitting low over her hips and revealing smooth skin between a shirt that clung to her like a second skin. As she turned to the open doorway, and him by default, he saw that she was stunning - beautiful, self-confident, poised, and now clothed in an outfit made for royalty. She even had a friggin' cape.

Buffy would have hated it.

As the ship rocked once again, he watched dispassionately as the goa'uld's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Jaffa, what is the meaning of this disturbance?" it demanded, and by the way that it held itself in Buffy's body, and by the clothing that had been selected, Jack thought that the snake usually preferred a male host - that it was trying to adapt to the curves that went with the fairer sex.

"My Lord Haremakhet," one of the priest's interrupted as he held out a hand device and bowed before the goa'uld. And yet with that simple address, Jack felt his heart grow cold.

As the priest dutifully helped his lord slip into the golden device, Colonel Jack O'Neill reeled. He knew that name. He remembered the goa'uld who had dialed onto Apophis' ship just in time to provide his team with a means of escape. He remembered the host's handsome features, his self-assured poise, and the arrogance that could be found in all goa'uld - and he was smart enough to understand the role that this particular goa'uld had played in whatever the snakes had done to Buffy while he had been recovering in the sarcophagus.

This was the creature that had tortured Buffy without mercy or compassion, and as Jack turned to take in the room one more time, he found that same host - now nothing more than an empty, quivering man - lying in a forgotten heap in the corner of the room. And in that moment, he knew that he had been right. The goa'uld that now inhabited Buffy's body was indeed used a male host.

And it was in Buffy.

It was sharing her body.

It was sharing her mind.

It had access to her memories, her experiences, and all of her strengths and weaknesses.

It now knew her better than any friend, parent, or lover - and the fact that it was _this_ goa'uld that had finally conquered the slayer made more sense than Jack was willing to admit. This creature had done unimaginable things to Buffy's body, and most likely to countless others - and now all of its thoughts, memories, and horrors were in Buffy's mind as well.

She was a prisoner in hell.

"We are under attack by the forces of Sokar," a Jaffa guard explained, answering Haremakhet's question and breaking through Jack's dark thoughts and realizations that had flashed by quicker than lightning - and bringing him only deeper into his depression. In that moment, once more all hopes were dashed beneath a harsh reality.

His team hadn't come, after all.

His team was never coming, for in his fucked up world there was no such thing as the cavalry.

Or a slayer. Not anymore.

Hazel eyes narrowing, Haremakhet glared at the guards - its eyes flashing with something that resembled fear - before pushing one edge of the cape over a shoulder that was narrow and small. "Bring me to our Lord Apophis," it ordered in a voice that was so torturing in that it was close to the one Jack remembered, and yet so wrong; especially when the eyes once more flashed that hideous gold.

With a curt nod, the Jaffa guards moved forward, Haremakhet sweeping forward without another glance in Jack's direction. For a brief moment, Jack thought about trying to follow. Even though Buffy was no longer in control of her body, she was still in there - trapped, hurting, and helpless - a place that she had never wanted to be. Yet after two years of working for the Stargate program, Jack knew that there was nothing that he could do to help. He couldn't help Skaara when the boy had been taken over by Klorel, and he couldn't help Charlie Kawalsky when another unnamed goa'uld took possession. No, he was as helpless as Buffy, and so in the end he did nothing but watch as Haremakhet swept into the hall in Buffy's body. Jack only turned away when he stumbled back a second later as the hallway erupted in the bright flare of staff fire.

In that moment of chaos, Jack was forgotten as his guards released him in favor of the bigger threat. Ducking a stray staff blast, the colonel quickly backpedaled against the far wall, his eyes never once leaving the open doorway as smoke billowed into the room. Haremakhet was out there in Buffy's body, and he found himself fighting the urge to run to her rescue. Seconds later the debate was ended for him as Haremakhet ducked into the room, Buffy's long golden hair fanning around its slender form.

The goa'uld retreated until its back was pressed into a far corner. Hazel eyes gleaming gold, it raised its personal shield just as a troop of Jaffa poured into the small room. Instantly Jack found himself trying to become one with the lurid golden wall behind him as he saw that these Jaffa weren't wearing the serpent heads of Apophis' guards, but instead something else that looked eerily demonic. There were six of them, men who were bedecked in armor of a burnt metallic, with hellfire-red edging and caps that were seamless with the skin of their hairless scalps. Their foreheads were inked with a black pentagram that had three lines jutting out from each corner, almost giving it the image of a distorted sun.

In the few seconds that it took for Jack to make his initial appraisal, he already concluded that these guys had to belong to Sokar. If Daniel was with him, no doubt the archaeologist would have had plenty to say about the matter. In a flurry of jumbled words, Daniel would have explained what myths Sokar was affiliated with, what the symbols stood for, who he was related to, how much of a pain in the ass he was going to become to the Stargate program, and maybe even what he preferred for breakfast. Teal'c would have also added in his two cents with some more relevant information - like what Sokar's position was in the grand scheme of things. Of course Teal'c's input would have been concise to the point of leaving him hanging. Carter would be quiet but indulgent, enjoying every moment of his exasperation at Daniel's babbling. In the end, though, Jack didn't have his team with him, and thus he was forced to make his own conclusions based solely on the ominous-looking armor and the way that Haremakhet cowered in Buffy's body.

Conclusion?

Big trouble.

Again.

"I am Lord Haremakhet," Buffy-turned-snake stated in a voice that sounded a lot less sure than when it was barking out orders a few minutes ago. "Ally to Lord Sokar," it added in something that was obviously supposed to be a confident statement, but came out sounding more like a question. "You will take me before your god."

Jack wanted to add a mental 'please' to the end of Haremakhet's tentative demand, but his smirk became frozen when one of Sokar's Jaffa finally noticed the aging colonel who was still trying, unsuccessfully, to become one with the wall. Jack quickly raised his hands before him, demonstrating the fact that he was, once more, without a weapon, and therefore absolutely harmless. He felt a giddy laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, and he had time to wonder if he was finally losing it when Haremakhet once more barked out an order - one that actually sounded like a real order.

"Jaffa, _kree_! The Tau'ri is valuable to our Lord Sokar," it stated, surprising Jack enough that he turned away from the glowing tip of the staff weapon to meet with Haremakhet's eyes - eyes that were still undeniably alien, and yet which seemed troubled. Confused. "He is important... somehow."

In that moment, Jack felt hope. Both for him not dying, and also for the small slayer that had to be fighting in there somewhere. Haremakhet had taken over Buffy's body, and everything that Buffy knew should have been at the goa'uld's disposal - and yet the goa'uld was obviously hesitant, unsure. Buffy was keeping something back from the goa'uld - maybe everything - and while he had no idea how she was doing it, he was thankful all the same. Earth wasn't a threat to Sokar, at least not yet, and he knew his value was nonexistent. But if Buffy could somehow convince Haremakhet to somehow convince Sokar to...

Or not.

The next thing Jack heard was a guttural command, most likely the goa'uld version of "Kill the human," "Take out the trash," or perhaps even "Have at it," or something else as equally mundane. Regardless, the result was the same as Jack turned back in time to witness his death come flying his way in the shape of a burning bolt of energy that slammed him back against the wall.

He was dead before he even hit the ground.

**To be continued...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 9**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Notes: **Today's metaphor: reviews are the strawberries to my banana, in which my banana is my motivation. When it comes to making a smoothie, you can't have one without the other... or maybe that's love and marriage. Hmm... there might be a reason why I write looonnnggg stories instead of short burbles. I'm able to hide my lunacy much better over long durations.

* * *

There really is a lot to be said for death - at least the kind that ends with the dimming lights of a sarcophagus that has just finished its appointed duty of making a guy less dead. Pain, malnourishment, exhaustion - even aching joints are at least given a temporary reprieve from that seeming one-way trip through Death's door. If Jack was more whimsical, he might have even wondered at the Reaper's frustration when so many of his newly acquired charges disappeared from his cold grasp. It was all thanks to whichever race had developed the sarcophagus technology which the goa'uld had then taken for their own maniacal purposes - for they sure as hell couldn't have done it on their own. He also wondered how long dead a person had to be, or how mangled the body, before the sarcophagus failed in its duty. He also hoped that he never had the opportunity to find out.

All these thoughts and many more raced through Jack's head as the lips of the stone lid parted to reveal a dark ceiling that remained shadowed in the dim light. He felt good - great even - and yet he couldn't seem to work up the energy to sit up and greet whoever no doubt waited for him. His team was long gone, possibly even dead - or so whispered the darkest, most ignored part of his mind - and they certainly were not coming to the rescue. They were brilliant, they were courageous, they were dedicated, and damn them if they hadn't become something frighteningly close to family in the two years they had been working together.

And they weren't coming.

They couldn't, for the sad truth was that if they had been able, they would have come, guns blazing, a long, long time ago. Someone had once told him that hope was the denial of reality, and Jack figured that it was high time that he stopped denying his own reality.

Unless things had drastically changed while he was dead - _again_ - Apophis was out of the picture and some new snake named Sokar was now calling the shots. He knew squat about Sokar aside from the obvious fact that he had kicked Apophis' ass - which, okay, scored him a few points in Jack's book. Then again, Buffy's new alter ego, Harry, a.k.a. Haremakhet - and who thought of these names, anyway? - seemed pretty terrified of being back under Sokar's thumb, which surprisingly didn't lead him down that twisted trail, but onto a whole new, far more painful route.

Buffy.

With that one thought, Jack felt his chest grow tight. She had held on for an impossibly long time. Her courage had surprised him, and he had unconsciously drawn strength from her quirky smiles and sarcastic wit, just as he hoped she had done with him. And yet the fact remained that she was just a kid - a kid that had been overrun by the same things that had taken Skaara, stolen Sha're, and killed Kawalsky. The goa'uld threatened the people he worked with, and by extension, his entire freaking planet. They were his enemy, and the memory of Buffy's flashing gold eyes reminded him that they had won that battle.

But what about the war?

What about Buffy's war?

"Hey, watch it!" Jack growled, his thoughts rudely interrupted by the Jaffa muscle that had apparently grown tired of waiting for Jack to crawl out of the sarcophagus that he hadn't climbed into in the first place. Receiving only a glare for his troubles, Jack allowed the guards - nondescript merely by the fact that after a while, all Jaffa who worked for the enemy tended to look the same - to manhandle him from the confining stone box to reveal a room that was even more dim and depressing than those found on Apophis' ship. And there was no doubt in Jack's mind that he definitely was _not_ on Apophis' ship.

Apophis was many things - most not suitable to be mentioned in polite company - but even that snakehead preferred to drape himself and his surroundings in things that reeked of pretentiousness and eye-searing gaudiness. His domain glittered with gold. Walls, jewels, concubines - all were lavish to the point of ostentatious, but it was vastly apparent that Sokar had hired another interior decorator altogether.

As Jack was 'encouraged' down one hallway after another, his cursory inspection proved that while the basic floor plan was the same (another reminder that the goa'uld entirely lacked in creativity or originality), the effect was anything but. The lighting was dimmed and shadows reigned. What light there was came in shades of red and burnt orange, giving off an appearance of open flame. Even the hieroglyphs, or pictographs, or whatever they were called, seemed different somehow. More dark. More ominous.

And that was before he heard the screams.

The voice was feminine, and yet it was also goa'uld - harsh, echoing, and completely tortured. He had no reason to recognize the screams, and yet he did. Intimately. And he wished he hadn't.

Unconsciously he quickened his steps - no longer the slow shuffling he had adopted for no other reason than to antagonize his escort. Now _he_ was leading _them_ as he turned a corner and stepped into a doorway - and froze on the threshold as his eyes took in the scene with one narrowed sweep of his gaze.

Buffy was on her hands and knees, but gone was the confident air of the goa'uld that had possessed her. Her skin was dotted with perspiration, her fine clothing rumbled and torn in places, and bruises and wet blood marred her face and the arms that were planted on the floor before her. Her breathing was ragged, and her body quivered as though it was on the brink of collapse. She looked like she had been put through hell. In the next moment, Jack saw why.

"Again," a cold voice ordered, dragging Jack's attention away to finally take in the rest of the room. They were on the helm of the ship - the room large and littered with few Jaffa that bore the pentagram seal of Sokar. Behind Buffy stood a man who bore the same marking, only in a burnished gold that marked him as the first prime. On the viewscreen before them, the one that usually displayed the dark of space, was the image of someone that could be no less than Sokar himself.

The goa'uld on the display was only visible from the shoulders up, but the disturbing view of unnaturally white skin, protruding veins, and dark, dead eyes that could have been red, depending on the light, was more than enough for Jack to realize that he had been absolutely right earlier: they were so screwed.

Catching movement to his right, Jack turned in time to watch as Sokar's first prime pressed the flickering blue end of what looked like a giant cattle prod into Buffy's back. Instantly she straightened, her muscles becoming corded bands of pain as her lips parted in the same horrific, tortured scream that had drawn him there in the first place, blue electricity dancing in her open mouth.

"Stop!" Jack ordered, the words escaping before he even registered the Jaffa that were holding him back. He felt good, full capacity, but even that meant nothing against the muscled guards that restrained him with ridiculous ease. Still, it seemed that his words had some effect as Sokar waved for Buffy's torture to be put on hold as he was manhandled to her side.

Grunting, he felt his knees protest as he was forced to kneel beside the petite blonde and before the viewscreen from which Sokar seemed to be doing a silent appraisal. Not that Jack really cared at the moment. He was too concerned with the fact that Buffy was now sagged forward, her entire body trembling from where she held most of her weight on her forearms.

"This is the Tau'ri you spoke of?" Sokar demanded, and while Jack wasn't sure what he was expecting, he was still unaccountably disappointed when Buffy rolled her head weakly to the side to meet his eyes for the first time since he had entered the room.

"It is, my Lord," she returned in that same, echoing goa'uld voice, and as Jack searched her eyes, he saw that it wasn't really her at all. The hazel eyes that met his were cold, impassioned, and they flashed with golden light when Harry responded.

"You spoke of value. How?" Sokar pressed, and Jack couldn't help the arch of his brow at the question. It was a damn good one - one that he would have liked the answer to himself.

"I... I am not certain, my Lord," Harry admitted, an answer that obviously didn't impress Sokar any more than it did for Jack. "The host, my Lord," Harry hurried on in an effort to avoid another encounter with the cattle prod. "The host is keeping things from me, somehow hiding things," he hastened to explain.

"Impossible," Sokar stated, and with another impatient wave Jack was once more forced to watch as Buffy was mercilessly tortured just inches to his right. He knew that Harry was still in control, but by his answer, he also knew now without a doubt that Buffy was in there too, still fighting. And somehow he doubted that Harry was shielding her from the torture that was being inflicted upon her body.

Not that there was a damn thing that Jack could do about it.

This time when the torture stopped, Harry was now sobbing for breath in a way that was very unmanly, and even too pathetic to be called girly. "No, please my lord," he gasped as he strained to lift Buffy's head long enough to deliver his passionate plea. "I have served you for many thousands of years, and I have served you well. Apophis conquered my army and forced-"

"Apophis is being dealt with," Sokar interrupted, obviously growing bored. "I should kill you now and be done with you. You are weak, Haremakhet."

"Perhaps, but I still have value," Harry countered, the snake obviously growing bold in its desperation. "This host knows much, and if I were only granted the time to learn her secrets, I am certain that they would prove most valuable to you. Already I have learned that she is known as _She-Ra_ to her people, and that she comes from a land called _Eternia_. She is ruler to a people there known as the _Hologram Girls_, a position that she inherited from the matriarch of their society, _Gem_."

For a moment, Jack struggled fiercely to hold in his snort of disbelief, trying in vain to smother it into a choking cough. He felt both Sokar and Haremakhet's eyes burning down upon him, but he found that by this point he really couldn't care. The worst part was that Harry had revealed all of the information with such strident passion that it was obvious he believed every single world he spoke, his enunciation of each name so very careful.

The guy was a chump, plain and simple, and somehow Buffy was playing him so expertly that she had him believing that she was a cartoon heroine that was somehow related to He-Man, Champion of the Universe. Even though Charlie had been born in the late 80s, and he had thankfully been spared from most of the cartoons from that decade, he still would have had to of been a lot farther away than even Iraq to miss the cartoon references. Even the mention of Gem and the Hologram Girls ignited a mental image of a cartoon woman with pink, punk rocker hair that he probably should have been embarrassed to have.

"And what of the Tau'ri? What is his value?"

"I... I do not yet know, but he has value," Harry quickly hurried on, causing Jack's brow to arch higher. "She values him greatly, and if I were given just a little more time I could learn her secrets and-"

"If time is all that you require, then time is what you shall have," Sokar interrupted with a negligent wave. Instantly Harry sagged beside him, the creature's relief palpable. Jack, however, wasn't so easily reassured as he waited patiently for the other shoe to drop. After all, if he had learned anything with his two years with the Stargate program, it was that with the goa'uld, there was _always_ another shoe. When Sokar continued, Jack found himself nodding along with the freaky-looking goa'uld. "I will grant you two hundred years in which to learn her secrets."

Voila.

The other shoe.

"No, my Lord. Please, I beg you," Harry quickly pleaded as Buffy's blonde head began to shake desperately back and forth.

"Two hundred years shall be granted to you to learn the secrets of your host and of this valuable Tau'ri," Sokar continued, the mocking in his voice evident to even the most dense of listeners, i.e. Harry, as the overlord spoke right over Harry's increasingly frantic pleas. "Two hundred years - on Netu," he finished pompously, obviously dropping his bombshell and allowing the true theatrics began.

As Jack watched in growing disbelief, Harry began to honest-to-god _wail _at Sokar's declaration. And not just wail. The goa'uld began to _piteously_ wail in a manner that was unbecoming of a little girl, let alone the supposedly big, bad, mad scientist that now inhabited Buffy's body. However, as the goa'uld somehow contorted Buffy's features into a mix of such abundant fear, Jack forewent his annoyance at Harry's display and skipped right onto the feeling that whatever had just happened was bad. Very, very bad.

* * *

Time passed, as it always did, giving Jack the opportunity to ponder life's many mysteries, to contemplate what his future had in store once they were finally off of Sokar's ship and on Netu, whatever _that_ was, and of course to try and raise any kind of reaction from Harry as he heckled the goa'uld mercilessly in their small, two-person prison cell. It was strange, really, for once again there was the appearance that he was enclosed in a cell with Buffy as his cellmate, but though it was Buffy's body, it was also quite apparent that Harry was still in charge - and he made for less than an amusing companion.

"I mean, where's the dignity in that?" he asked as he lounged lazily against the back wall of their impossibly small six foot by four foot closet. The walls were gold, of course, but in this small prison there was no light to illuminate the dreary surroundings, and the floors didn't gleam like they did back on Apophis' ship, leaving Jack to believe that they were instead covered with dried stains that were better left unexplored. Really, he was just lucky that Buffy was so short, as he had barely enough room to stretch out against the back wall provided that Harry kept his host sitting in a small huddle near the invisible shielding on their door. "I've met school children who would have faced their sentencing with more panache then you've shown."

Silence.

"Haven't you learned _anything_ about your host?" Jack persisted, a sly smile pulling at his thin lips. "After all, Buffy didn't get to be She-Ra just by waving a fancy sword around. There were important words to be called out, flashy lights, and revealing leotards. Plus, those Hologram Girls aren't easily fooled by just another pretty-"

"You mock me," Harry interrupted in a flat, deadened tone that echoed in their small chamber as Buffy's hazel eyes flashed with golden light. "Do you feel threatened by everything that I have already learned about this host?"

Jack struggled to keep a neutral expression, a smile twitching just out of reach. "No, of course I don't feel threatened. So you've learned Buffy's title and what her people call her world. Eternia, was it?" he persisted, this time the corners of his lips revealing him ever so slightly. "That doesn't mean a lot in the grand scheme of things. And it obviously didn't keep you from acting like a pussy when being called out by your old boss."

"Foolish slave," Harry returned, his expression wearied. "You have no idea of the hell to which we have been sentenced."

"Nope, not really," Jack admitted with a careless shrug. "But at least I didn't act like such a girl about it," he deadpanned, taking a ridiculous amount of joy from the deepened scowl. If he was going to be stuck with Harry, and thereby possibly forever be denied the comfort and joy of Buffy's company, the least he could do was get some kicks and giggles from the experience. After all, the only alternative was to finally succumb to the hysteria that simmered so closely beneath the surface.

No, he'd rather antagonized the enemy, as was his due, any time.

* * *

Hours later, the bored silence that had fallen on the small cell was broken as Harry scrambled from his seated position and scurried back from the door. "Hey, watch it," Jack growled as he stood up quickly in an attempt to avoid being trampled by all of Buffy's 5'2" frame.

"They come for us," Harry whispered, the hollow, echoing tones doing little to disguise the naked fear that was evident in the goa'uld's voice.

"About time," Jack sighed as he made a show of stretching out his long limbs. "I was starting to get a cramp," he admitted, only to become disappointed when his comments didn't even earn himself a sneer. No, Harry now had eyes only for the Jaffa that appeared at their shielded doorway. In fact, the goa'uld didn't even wait for the field to be lowered before he began pleading for another audience with Sokar. Rolling his eyes, Jack became the model prisoner as he followed their burly escort with his back straight and head held high. Somewhere deep down he realized that it was rather stupid trying to make a point to a goa'uld, but he couldn't help the rush of satisfaction as Harry did the opposite - his pleas turning to bribes as Buffy's small frame was prodded forward with open staff weapons. In moments they were led into a room that was lined with small pods - and that was when Jack's proud stature began to waver.

Each pod was made of dark metal and looked like a rounded coffin that was standing on its head. He had seen something like this in one sci-fi movie or another, and the dark, barren interior did little to make him want to climb inside, as his escort so obviously desired. Harry seemed even less inclined as the goa'uld finally put Buffy's slayer strength to use in a clumsy attempt to break free of their captors and make a bid for freedom. That attempt was stopped even before it had a chance to begin as Harry was zatted into submission and then shoved into one small pod - leaving Jack with no choice but to settle into the one right beside it.

"Not good," he whispered, leaning back against the smooth metal that was cold against his arms and leached the warmth from his worn pants and torn tee-shirt. In seconds he was shivering, the hairs on his forearms standing on end as one Jaffa flashed him a cocky smile before a door slid closed and encased him in darkness. "Not good," he repeated, wanting to wrap his arms around his chest, but finding that he didn't have room in the small capsule to do more than press his hands uselessly against the sealed door. "Not good," he uttered for one last, final time before there was an ominous hiss before a heavy pressure slammed him back against the metal, his head cracking off of one smooth panel before an even deeper darkness settled around him.

**To be continued...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 10**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Due credit given to SG1 episode 2.18 (Serpent's Song) and 3.12 (Jolinar's Memories) for a few great lines.

**Author's Note:** Huge thanks to everyone for your patience with this update! RL has gotten quite busy with the summer months (vacations, new roommates, new nieces...), not to mention the huge distraction that I've found in reading all things _Supernatural_. What can I say? Those Winchester boys are very, very easy on the eyes. But not to fear, for Colonel Jack O'Neill continues to hold a dear spot in my heart, and I've spent too many years in Buffy's head to every fully be able to crawl back out again. So thank you, again, for your wonderful reviews and gentle nudges. Each review was a reminder of those who were waiting for an update, and this wouldn't have been written without you.

* * *

Daniel was numb; bone-chilling, mind-achingly numb. His watch said that it was after midnight, but from his on-base quarters in the deepest part of the mountain, Daniel Jackson wouldn't have known night from day. It could have been high noon in the world above, and the deep, penetrating darkness in which he sat would not have been affected.

It had been nearly two months since their escape from Apophis' mothership. Daniel remembered none of it. One moment he had thrown himself at the Jaffa guard that was trying to take Buffy from their cell, and the next thing he knew he was waking up in the infirmary, with Dr. Janet Frasier's worried eyes staring down at him. Thinking back now, he was ashamed to admit that his first thought wasn't for his team, but instead for his own pain and discomfort from a head that felt ready to split in two. It was only when Sam crowded into his line of vision, her happiness at seeing him awake tempered by a grief that she was powerless to hide, that he not only remembered his team, but also realized that something was wrong. Something was horribly, dreadfully wrong, for Sam _never_ looked like that.

He had been right.

For those first few weeks Daniel's world had been narrowed by anger: anger with Sam and Teal'c for leaving Jack behind, anger with Jack himself for order them to leave in the first place, anger with the girl, Buffy, for slowing Jack down, anger with General Hammond for not sending them immediately back to rescue Jack, and then anger at the world that when a rescue mission was finally authorized, the gate address no longer worked. He was angry at everyone, but mostly he was angry with himself.

Jack had been there when Daniel had met Sha're, he had been the one to allow Daniel to stay behind on Abydos where his love had blossomed, and Jack had been the one to welcome him back when Daniel's world had fallen apart when Sha're had been taken. Jack was not the same man he had been three years ago - the hard-nosed colonel who had been one step away from complete self-destruction. He had changed from the man that had hovered on the roof ledge to the one who was pulling others back when the world became too much. Jack was his friend - his _best_ friend - and now Jack was gone.

Yes, Daniel was angry at the world, but with much patience from Teal'c, he realized that he was really the most angry with himself. He was angry with himself for compromising himself by attacking the Jaffa guard. He was angry at himself for being knocked unconscious. He was angry at himself for making himself a dead weight - a dead weight that had hung about Sam and Teal'c's necks, slowing down the team and further isolating Jack. He was most angry, though, for not being able to say goodbye.

Two months had come and gone and hope had dwindled. The Tok'ra were unable to help - their spies couldn't tell them where Jack was, what was happening to their friend, or even if he was still alive. There was no one else to turn to, and it was with great reluctance that Jack had been officially listed as MIA. Tomorrow, though, Jack's status would be changed. Thanks to Apophis' surprise visit, and the chaotic events of the past few hours, tomorrow Daniel's best friend would be listed as KIA - and then not even hope could exist.

SG-2 had been sent off-world to meet with the Tok'ra - at least, they were pretty sure that it was the Tok'ra that they were supposed to be meeting.

They returned just a short while later with Apophis.

As Jack would have said, had he been there, another goa'uld had kicked Apophis' ass and Apophis had come to share his misery. His army had been conquered - defeated - and he had been taken captive by Sokar, one-time ruler of the System Lords, personal enemy of Apophis, and the original God of Death. Apophis had then been tortured and brutalized, only to slip free of Sokar long enough to dial out an S.O.S. in hopes of finding sanctuary with his enemies, the Tau'ri.

How did that saying go? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?

Apophis had tried complimenting Sam, commanding Teal'c, and worst of all, _bonding_ with Daniel himself - insinuating a common love for Sha're because his queen, Amonet, possessed Daniel's wife's body. Apophis was dying - the torture having done irreparable damage to the symbiote, and his host's life failing without a sarcophagus to restore him. He bartered for his life - a new host for vital intel about the goa'uld, technology, weapons... information about Jack.

That was, of course, when the Tok'ra finally showed up with a warning that if they didn't return Apophis to wherever they had found him, Sokar would turn his wrath on Earth instead. They had been right. Sokar had come and the order had been given to cease all medical intervention on Apophis' behalf. They were to send his body through the stargate, to whatever fate awaited him, and in the end Daniel had stood by and watched as the golden light slowly faded from Apophis' eyes.

_"Help me," Apophis begged, his voice a weak rasp that did little to break through the haze that had settled over Daniel's vision. This vile, pitiful creature had taken his wife from him, and yet he was the one person that could tell them Jack's fate. Deep down, he knew that Jack had most likely been killed many weeks, if not months ago, and yet some stubborn part of him refused to relinquish that hope. How many times had they already overcome certain death? How many times had they already been written off, only to return victoriously?_

_It was a moot question, a moot point, for no matter what information Apophis still possessed, there was no way to retrieve that information from a creature that was moments away from death. The only way to save Apophis would be to provide him with a new host, and no matter how much Daniel loved and missed Jack, he knew that he could never sacrifice another in his place. Oh, it wasn't because he was afraid that he would never be able to live with himself. In the past few years Daniel had come to realize that he was capable of many horrible, despicable things that went against his very nature - anything if it meant saving the ones that he loved. No, he knew that this sacrifice could never take place because _Jack _would never be able to live with himself. He would hate them for giving this sacrifice, and Daniel didn't think he could live with that._

_"No," he stated, his voice firm and low as he met Apophis' glowing eyes._

_"A host," Apophis pleaded, and Daniel wished he could find a cruel, vindictive smile somewhere as he slowly shook his head. But he couldn't find a smile, no matter how gratifying._

_"No."_

_"I am afraid," Apophis whispered, causing a swell of anger to course through Daniel's veins._

_"Good," Daniel returned, and in that moment he watched as Apophis accepted his fate. All weakness, pleading, or fear slipped from his features like a painting that had been doused beneath a harsh wave. In its place, cold, cruel calculation caused Apophis' gaze to narrow as the goa'uld took obvious delight in delivering his final words._

_"I killed O'Neill... many times... he is in hell."_

They had been Apophis' final words, and with those words all hope that remained immediately withered and died. They had sent his body through the wormhole, most likely to be revived and tortured all over again, and Sokar had withdrawn his assault upon their stargate. The crisis was over, and yet there was no celebration, no sense of accomplishment.

Colonel Jack O'Neill was dead, Killed In Action, and soon there would be a memorial for the base's second-in-command. An empty grave would be dug, his ex-wife, Sara, would be notified, his belongings would be boxed, sorted, and sold, and his house would be put on the market.

And Jack was dead.

Tomorrow he, Sam, and Teal'c would start the process. They would go to Jack's house and begin boxing up his personal effects, and they would remember the man that had been their leader, their teammate, and their friend. They would celebrate a life lived and mourn a life lost.

But tonight... tonight was for Daniel. Tonight was for his grief, to sit alone in this dark room and remember the friend that had meant so much to him. Tonight was his night to say goodbye.

* * *

"This sucks."

Though a handful of minutes were most likely all that had come and gone, Jack felt like he had been eyeing Buffy's slumped form for hours. He had awakened to one mother of a headache some time ago, only to find that his metal-pod-of-death was cracked open and leaking in a sulfurous wave of heat and barely breathable air that left him alternately gasping for breath and hacking up his lungs. All in all, it wasn't the most pleasant of ways to wake up - and if his head wasn't hurting so much from where he had cracked it during his initial freefall, he was sure that he could come up with a time he had encountered worse.

And to think his team considered him a pessimist.

With no other options left available to him, Jack had finally squeezed out of his pod and taken his first steps on Netu - steps that had proven to Jack that Harry hadn't been exaggerating about the hell that they had been sentenced to, for this place certainly resembled that Catholic-induced fear of fire and brimstone. The planet's surface was a dark crust that was blanketed beneath deep mounds of loosely shifting ash that were stirred, lifted and eddied by a constant arid wind. Jagged spires that were a mottled red color of utter desolation dotted a horizon that was lit by sporadic bursts of lightning, the dry, static kind, with open streams of boiling lava cutting through the barren landscape. All around him great gaping maws belched toxic fumes, polluting the air he breathed and squeezing the water from his pores. The sky was a mottled blackish-gray, and a large, deadened planet loomed in the distance through the hazy gray atmosphere.

It was a scene that even Bosch himself would have had a hard time painting, and for a moment Jack could do nothing else but take in his surroundings in silence. His breathing was slow and shallow by necessity, and he felt a subtle weight pushing on his shoulders, as though trying to bear him into the ground. It could have been despair, the absence of all hope, or maybe just the atmosphere at work, but after a few moments of selfish wallowing, Jack did his best to suck it up, straighten his shoulders and start walking.

And walking some more.

And then there was more walking.

In the end, Jack didn't know how long he had walked, or in how many circles he had turned, either by necessity to circumvent a lava stream, or by pure misdirection, before he noticed that the pod that he had stumbled upon wasn't his own. His shirt was soaked with sweat - water that he was sure his body desperately needed - and his breathing sounded ragged, his throat burning from both the heat, the fumes, and the raw thirst that had occupied the good majority of his thoughts for the last few hours. Now, however, that thirst was forgotten in lieu of the petite blonde that was slumped against the wall of her pod prison.

With a puzzled frown, Jack scratched at the silver whiskers that dotted his chin as he contemplated the young woman who had once been his only ally. Did the rule about never leaving a man behind still count when aforementioned man was infested with the enemy? Or did that just mean that you left the man behind and hurried like hell to put some distance between you? Even though he had mocked Harry as nothing more than a blubbering sissy, the fact still remained that he was a goa'uld who was in possession of a body with enhanced speed, strength, and overall butt-kicking capabilities. Whenever he finally got over the whining-sissy-stage, Harry had every probability of beating Jack to within an inch of his life - or worse. And yet... Buffy was still in there, somewhere.

Sighing, Jack realized that standing around thinking about the matter was rather pointless. He couldn't leave Buffy behind, symbiote or not, anymore than he could have left Carter, Teal'c or Daniel. Somewhere in the course of their captivity, he had stopped seeing her as the civilian that had been thrust into their dangerous world, and as a comrade that was just as capable of rolling with the punches as he was - and that was a skill that he had only learned the hard way - through grief, loss, and plenty of adversity. From their time together, Jack knew that Buffy had learned the same way. No matter how young she appeared, she had stopped being the girl she was entitled to be and had grown into a capable woman that he would have been proud to have on his team.

Not that she would have been any better at following his orders than Daniel.

With a resigned slump of his shoulders, Jack stepped forward and manhandled her limp, unresponsive form into a fireman's carry. The position wouldn't be comfortable for either of them, and while he knew his back would be complaining within no time, there were simply no other options available. The air was toxic, the heat unrelenting, and unless he found them some sort of shelter that was at least partially more habitable, neither one of them would be around to complain.

With that relatively optimistic thought in mind, Jack put one dogged foot in front of the other and started walking. Again.

It was some time later when he felt his increasingly heavy burden begin to stir. By this point, thirst was no longer a time-consuming thought, but a desperate need, and Jack shifted Buffy's slight frame onto the ashy ground with a groan of relief. With a slight stagger, he all but fell beside her and stared up at the hazy planet that loomed in the distance. While Harry was an evil bastard by nature, Jack was almost looking forward to the snake finally waking up. Not only would that mean that the rat bastard could finally walk on his own and carry Buffy's own weight, but it also meant that Jack would be marginally less alone. Not that he minded solitude, but even he had to admit that the hiss of fuming vents and the crack of shifting rock in no way made up for the nearly suffocating silence that blanketed this world.

"Ooh, ow," his companion groaned.

Yet to the colonel's surprise, the muttered words had been grunted in Buffy's voice, and not the harsh modulated tones of the symbiote. It was a cruel trick, but a trick nonetheless and Jack refused to be baited - no matter how much it hurt to hear Buffy's voice again, even when it was used to complain. "And the bitching begins," he muttered crossly as Buffy's hazel eyes fluttered open before clenching shut.

"And speaking of bitchy," the goa'uld muttered, once more with Buffy's voice as its hand lifted to weakly probe at a ragged cut along the hairline, still gummy with congealed blood. "Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the pod this morning," it continued to goad, and Jack found his anger suddenly intensifying at the goa'uld's gall.

"Stop it," he snapped, sitting up quickly and glaring down at the figure that was slowly making its way from full sprawl to a pained slouch. The sharpness in his voice surprised them both, and Jack found his fury growing as he met Buffy's hazel eyes, a small furrow of confusion marring her brow. He was unable to look past her familiar features to the snake that he knew was wrapped around her spinal column, tapped into her brain. "Stop using her voice like that. Stop-"

"Yelling," it interrupted with a tired glare as it pinched the bridge of its nose - of Buffy's nose. "Some of us are not only suffering from the headache from hell, but also from what feels like the most undercooked batch of chicken strips known to man, and I swear to all that is holy that if you continue to vent your bitchiness on me I _will_ puke on your boots. Trust me when I say that symbiote-poison-induced vomit is _never_ pretty."

For a moment in time, Jack sat frozen, his mouth hanging open in disbelief as hope warred with caution. She sounded like Buffy all the way from the pitch of her voice to her annoyed rant, and yet he had already played this game before. When Carter had been taken over by Jolinar, the snake hadn't hesitated in using Carter's own voice to beg for her commanding officer to set her free - and that had been a Tok'ra. If their _allies_ could be capable of such deceptions, there was no limit to what the goa'uld could do. "And why should I believe you?" he asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Instantly a familiar smirk caused Buffy's lips to lift in a sly grin. "Well, we can always have that conversation about how you know so much about She-Ra or Gem and the Hologram Girls," she offered sweetly, but Jack knew neither shame nor the embarrassment she had intended as he quickly pulled her close in a bone-crushing hug. In that moment, despite the toxins he inhaled with every breath, the immense heat, cloying thirst, pounding headache, and despair, defeat, and depression that had been so close to crushing him only moments before, Jack felt at peace. Completely and utterly at peace. Nothing else existed outside of the small blonde woman that was tucked safely in his arms, evidently free of the goa'uld that had initially defeated her. She was safe (if not for the moment), whole (at least relatively speaking), uninjured (at least by their standards), and best of all, she was still Buffy. For this single moment, nothing else mattered.

Well, almost nothing else.

"Speaking of which, how did She-Ra even get drug into any of this? Where do you come up with this stuff?" he asked as he loosened his hold just enough so that he could meet her bright hazel eyes where they blinked innocently at him.

"Hours and hours of cartoons as a kid," Buffy returned with a wry smile. "And it was either She-Ra or Rainbow Brite, but somehow I doubted that any name with 'Rainbow' in it would strike fear in the hearts of my enemies."

"And what, Buffy is any better?" Jack returned, relishing in their steady banter as the small slayer scowled playfully at his familiar quip. It was as if the last few days had never happened. Her eyes seemed no more shadowed than before, her shoulders just as burdened, and her remarks just as light. If anything, she seemed a little bit more like herself - a little stronger and a little more steady. Harry had healed the damage that had been done to her body before dying and polluting her blood stream all over again, and yet Buffy was stronger for that reprieve. In fact, the only real reminder could be found in her clothing, for gone was the shapeless brown rags that she had been wearing for so long, and in their place Buffy was still clothed in Harry's get-up: flowing burgundy pants that clung to Buffy's hips and pooled around her ankles - dirty now and ripped in places; a skin-tight vest that revealed Buffy's slim waist and toned arms - stained with her blood; and flat-soled shoes that were remarkable only in the fact that Buffy was finally wearing shoes again. The only thing she was missing was the cape, and that thought alone brought a smile to his face that only slipped at Buffy's grumbled response to his good-natured teasing.

"Well excuse me for trying to have a little bit of fun while being suppressed by Evil." Her words were obviously intended in the light vein that they had been talking, but they were a stark reminder that everything _wasn't_ the same. He couldn't pretend that none of it had happened because Buffy _had_ been overcome by a goa'uld. She had become a prisoner in her own body, had no doubt borne witness to Harry's disturbed thoughts and dark past, and had undergone horrific and brutal torture at Sokar's hands. It had all happened to Buffy, and that thought was enough to sober Jack of any and all light-hearted thoughts - a fact that was evidently quite obvious as Buffy gently covered his hand with her own and squeezed it lightly. "Besides, I think I'd look pretty damn hot in that leotard and mini-skirt that She-Ra had going on."

"Definitely better than the original," Jack agreed with a weak smile before averting his eyes, giving her what little privacy he could afford for the conversation that was now unavoidable. He wished that he could follow through with Buffy's unspoken request to keep things light, but he had learned long ago that avoiding a subject didn't necessarily make it go away - no matter how much they both wished that it would. "What happened?"

Silence followed his question, and yet Jack knew how to be patient when it was needed. Over the course of their exchange they had both shifted until they had found positions that didn't aggravate their various bruises, and yet allowed them to maintain the smallest of physical contact. They were now seated side by side, hips brushing against each other, with Buffy's legs curled beneath her and his spread out before him. He didn't look at her, allowing her to find her measure as he instead looked past the horrific landscape and to the hazy planet that hung above them. In time, he felt Buffy's shoulders brush against him in a slow shrug.

"At first I just needed time to regain my strength," she admitted, her voice quiet - thoughtful. "After... after everything I just couldn't fight him, too. And after that, well, it just didn't seem like the most opportune time to retake the reigns." Here a pause, as though she was uncertain how to continue, or if she even wanted to, but if there was one thing that Jack had learned about Buffy during their captivity, it was that she hated silence more than anything. Often she would talk just to fill the silence, and she didn't disappoint now. "It was weird, really. Weird in a bad kind of way. I kept quiet and hidden and concentrated on keeping him out of my head - my thoughts, my memories. I would just let a few things slip every now and again."

"You made Harry think I was important enough to keep alive," Jack prodded when the silence began to stretch.

His words surprised her, and when he felt her turn he matched Buffy's movement until he met her puzzled gaze. "You are," she returned, simple as that, and with a small smile she turned away and Jack knew that at least for the moment, the matter was closed.

Ceding to her wish, Jack returned his gaze to the bleak landscape and indicated it with a jerk of his head. "Harry didn't seem too happy about being sent here," he noted, watching as Buffy seemed to take notice of their surroundings for the first time. Surprisingly, she didn't seem too fascinated by the hellish vista.

"That's because he wasn't," she stated, and Jack responded to the strange note in her voice by dropping his arm over her shoulder and drawing her closer against him. Sure, it was hot as hell on Netu, literally, but some things just transcended personal comfort. "We're on a moon that's in Sokar's backyard, orbiting his home planet," she explained as she indicated the deadened world that hung ominously in the stormy sky. "A looong time ago some of his scientists turned this place into the hell you see today. And when I say hell, I mean that literally."

"As in..."

"As in a place of eternal suffering and damnation from which there's no return," Buffy deadpanned as her head tilted until it was propped against his shoulder. "Netu was once an industrialized colony of the planet it's orbiting. When Sokar conquered the planet, he changed the moon's atmosphere."

"Changed as in..."

"He filled it with barely breathable toxins-"

"Noticed that," Jack interrupted, all the while trying to ignore the uncomfortable tickling that his throat developed just at the thought of everything he really didn't want to be breathing.

"-and then blasted holes in the surface, releasing the molten core-"

"Which _would_ explain the balmy climate," Jack continued as Buffy shrugged in agreement.

"The only way on this rock is by the pods we came in on - something about the atmosphere that makes it unfriendly towards ships. Oh - and there's no way out," she finished with a breathy sigh - as though they were having another discussion about the Simpsons and not their eternal damnation. Although, that did beg the question...

"So how was Sokar planning on springing us when our two hundred year sentence is up?" Jack asked before pausing to admire how only his strange life could prompt such a question. Yet Buffy didn't seem to have an answer to that one, so Jack turned instead to the next in a list of blindingly stupid observations. "You seem to know a lot about this place."

"Ass-Hat did. He was one of the guys who helped build it."

"Oh," Jack returned, a small smile lifting his lips at Harry's new nickname before he shrugged his broad shoulders and moved onto the next item on his list. "So now what?" he asked, a question that felt at once strange and familiar all at the same time. He had been leading his team for two years now, and various other missions for much longer. That meant that it had been quite some time since he had asked another for direction - at least so directly. With his team, there were many times when their expertise meant they knew the best avenue to take much better than he did, and yet because he was in charge, somehow he always found the best way of asking that question without seeming quite so... clueless. Yet for all of his survival skills, this situation was well and truly beyond his range of knowledge, and a good leader always knew when to stop and ask for directions - no matter what Carter said to the contrary.

"Well, we should probably head below ground. We can find just about the only inhabitable area down there," Buffy sighed as she slowly shrugged out from under Jack's arm and made a passable attempt at regaining her feet. Instantly Jack scrambled up in a move that made him look far more spry than he was feeling, before he bent down and pulled the small slayer up, steadying her against his side as she gratefully leaned against him.

"You know, that's kind of creepy," he commented as he allowed her to point them in a new direction.

"What is?" Buffy returned, her voice sounding suspiciously sleepy.

"The sudden Know-Everything," Jack filled in as he wondered how long she'd be able to hold out before sleep claimed her once again. Yes, she was looking worlds stronger than before Harry had taken over, but it was evident that she still wasn't back up to her side of normal yet. How could she be? A snake just died in her head and sent all sorts of nasty toxins into her bloodstream.

"Yeah, you should have tried living it," Buffy returned, breaking into Jack's thoughts and instantly causing him to tighten his hold around her waist.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, kicking himself for his tactlessness. After months of captivity, it shouldn't have been any surprise that his manners and common sense were slipping a bit. Still, back in the day a thoughtless comment like that would have earned him a slap upside the head from good old Nana. "I didn't mean-"

"Hey, it's no big," Buffy interrupted with a sloppy shrug of her shoulders. "While it was kind of rough letting Ass-Hat take the reigns, even I could see that our chances of survival were that much higher with him running the show. At least then we had _some_ kind of value to Sokar."

"And now?" Jack couldn't help but ask.

With a sigh, Buffy stopped and nodded her head in the direction of dark, gaping maw that cut into the dark landscape before them. "For now, I recommend we keep Ass-Hat's untimely death to ourselves."

"Huh. I can live with that," Jack agreed before tightening his hold on Buffy's slender waist and guiding them down into darkness.

**To be continued...**


	11. Chapter 11

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 11**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Due credit given to BtVS episode 6.01 (Bargaining Part 1) and SG1 episode 3.12 (Jolinar's Memories) and 3.13 (The Devil You Know) for a few great lines and descriptions.

**Author's Note:** Thanks again to all of you wonderful reviewers! Also, be sure to check out (www . stargatefanawards . com). Voting is now open for this year's awards and there are many, _many_ amazing authors and pieces out there that deserve your attention and your votes! Thanks again!

* * *

It was strange being here at the foot of her best friend's empty grave. Not that she hadn't been here before, for she had. Many, many times. There was the night when they buried an empty casket - an empty casket because they hadn't even been left with a body to bury. Buffy had made the ultimate sacrifice that night, just as deep down, they all knew that she eventually would, and yet the portal had stolen her life, used her own blood to seal it, and then disappeared, taking Buffy's body with it. And so they had buried an empty casket a few nights later - a night chosen in deference to Angel and Spike and also because... well, somehow it just seemed right. Buffy had spent so much of her time fighting in the dark, it only seemed right somehow to remember her there as well.

Willow had also come back many times since that night to talk to the cold granite that marked a spot where no body rested. She had come to ask for forgiveness for not doing enough to stop Glory, to give thanks for believing in her and for encouraging her to do everything in her power to restore Tara's mind, and to beg for her best friend to hold on just a little bit longer.

Giles believed that because Buffy was dead, the battle was over. He believed that Buffy must finally be at rest, her burden lifted, and her soul at peace. He said that it didn't matter where her body had landed, for Buffy was in a 'better place.'

Willow thought he was so full of shit he had to be drowning in it.

Yes, deep down Willow admitted to herself that the watcher could be right. Perhaps all of Buffy's sacrifices hadn't been in vain, and maybe she had finally gotten what she deserved. Peace. Happiness. Heaven. But what if she hadn't? There were so many questions and possibilities, for when push came to shove, Buffy hadn't died a normal death. She had died a supernatural one - one ladened with magic and energy. In Willow's mind, that meant that there could be no certainties. What if her soul had ended up in whatever hell dimension a living and breathing Angel had been sent to? What if her soul had been trapped in someplace worse? Could damage be done to something that wasn't corporeal? Could Buffy suffer when her body was dead and all that remained was something so transient?

Willow wasn't willing to take that chance, and after much bullying, neither were Xander, Tara, or Anya. Buffy was her best friend, and while Willow was willing to die for her, she hadn't been given that chance. So instead, Willow would do better. She would delve far deeper into the black arts than she should ever dare venture, as long as it meant saving Buffy from even the possibility of eternal torment. After everything that Buffy had done for Willow, it was the very least that she could do. It was the least that any of them could do.

"Does everybody have their candles?" she asked as she finally tore her eyes from the tombstone that loomed before her, Xander, Tara, and Anya helping to finish the semicircle around Buffy's grave. Xander and Tara already held their flickering candles, their stances uneasy as Anya continuously flicked the lighter.

"I'm trying. My lighter won't stay lit," the ex-vengeance demon stated, causing a thrill of alarm to creep into Willow's voice.

"Well hurry, it has to-"

"What time is it?" Tara demanded, her girlfriend also feeling the crush of passing time.

"A minute till midnight," Xander returned as he quickly checked his watch against his flickering candle.

"C'mon, Anya, do you have it?" Willow probed, her eyes narrowed on her friend.

"I got it, I got it. I got it," Anya repeated as the wick caught fire and added its own circle of light to the small group of friends.

"Okay. Start the circle now," she commanded, and they all knelt, holding their candles aloft as Willow cradled the Urn of Osiris in her hands. Already she felt her nervousness melt beneath the awareness of the heavy magicks that she was about to use. This kind of spell was more advanced than anything she had before tried. It required an innocent sacrifice, and ignoring any memories on how it had been obtained, Willow produced the small jar of fawn's blood and poured it into the urn.

If the others had been nervous before, now they looked downright panicky. You can't have lived on the Hellmouth this long without being able to recognize the blood for what it was, and yet Willow forced her scattered thoughts to focus on the only thing that mattered: getting Buffy back.

"Osiris, keeper of the gate, master of all fate. Hear us," she commanded as she dipped her finger into the urn and anointed her forehead and cheeks with the blood of the innocent. "Before time and after, before knowing and nothing," she murmured as she poured the remaining blood onto the earth. "Accept our offering. Know our prayer," she murmured - and then paused. According to the extensive research that she had done in preparation for this night, this was the point at which she would be tested. She wasn't sure exactly how the testing would take place, but the illustrations made her believe that it wouldn't be pleasant. In fact, it was guaranteed to be painful.

Unnerved by the continued silence, Willow shot Tara a questioning look before shrugging her small shoulders and continuing with the ritual. "Osiris!" she called out, her voice strong and clear. "Here lies the grave of the warrior of the people. Let her cross over!" The command had been sharp and powerful, the words ringing in the quiet night - and yet it was utterly anticlimactic as nothing happened, and once more the silence stretched.

"Um... should something be happening right now?" Xander asked, breaking the tense quiet.

"Shhh!" Tara hissed as Willow glared at her best friend. "Willow said not to interrupt her, no matter what. If we break the cycle now, it's over."

"What cycle?" Xander returned in a loud whisper. "Nothing's happening," he pointed out, and even though Willow tried to desperately ignore her friend's words, she couldn't help but feel that he was right. Something was wrong. It was as though she could feel the magic, ready and waiting to do her bidding... and yet something was missing.

Suddenly a loud rumbling broke the night quiet, and it took everything in Willow's power to remain seated as everyone turned back towards town with equally startled expressions. "Oh god, what's that noise?" Anya demanded, but Willow tuned her out as she renewed her focus on Buffy's tombstone.

"Osiris, let her cross over!" she demanded, her voice raising in intensity as she frantically wracked her mind. She had to be missing something. There was some key element that she needed. "Osiris, release her!" she ordered, that missing element so, so very close and then-

She understood.

She understood why the spell wasn't working, and the realization both filled her with wonder and horror. "Oh my Goddess," she whispered, her quietly uttered words enough to draw her friends' attention away from the growing roar of whatever monster surely approached, and back to where she knelt upon the grass at Buffy's empty grave. Suddenly it all made some kind of horrible, wonderful sense. "Buffy... Buffy, she's not... she's not dead," she stammered, meeting her friends' incredulous gazes. "The spell. It won't work because _Buffy's not dead_," she ground out, only to be interrupted as the BuffyBot pushed her way into the clearing, sparking madly and waving her arms frantically.

"Willow! I need service!" she cried out as the noise finally evened out into the deafening roar of revving motorcycles, seconds before a series of large bikes carrying very scary looking demons into the clearing. That was, of course, when all hell broke loose.

* * *

With a soft, languid sigh, Buffy stretched her petite frame against the hard, lean planes that had grown familiar in the slow crawl of time unnumbered. She felt rested, content, and peaceful in a way that not even the ever-present screams of the tortured, insane, or dying could ruin. Not that she really noticed the screams on a conscious level anymore. In this place, you either had to allow the screams to become your soundtrack, same as the crashing waves of the Pacific back in Sunnydale, or the ever-present hum of traffic in Los Angeles, or you went bug-eating crazy. Personally, she opted for the soundtrack, for while she had been forced to eat some questionable stuff while vacationing in hell, she flat-out drew the line at bugs.

Vacationing in hell.

Whoever thought that such incongruous words could be paired together? She certainly hadn't - especially when she and Jack had first stumbled out of the narrow tunnel that led from Netu's surface and down into a cavern that stretched as far as she could see. The discerning eye could see that at one point, long, long ago, there had been a civilization here. There were walls carved amongst the rock, broken stairs, crumbled chambers, and barred cells.

You couldn't forget the cells.

The rock floor wasn't as hidden under blankets of ash this deep below the surface, and so the scattered bones and skeletal trees were more visible. The darkness was off-set by magma flows that lit this underground world with hellish red light, the heat nearly intolerable and the fumes almost visible to the naked eye. Then there were the people - the fellow prisoners, or denizens, as they called themselves. They were everywhere - men and women, old and older, scarred, dirty, and looking as evil as they came with hand-fashioned clubs that they bared as much to deter attacks as to make them.

_"Well, it's certainly not the Emerald City," Jack stated, dryly summing it up as the denizens slowly gathered in a tight circle._

_"Definitely not Kansas, either," she agreed as Bynarr stepped forward to welcome them to Netu_.

As far as welcoming committees could go, Sokar's snake-in-charge hadn't been all that bad. Lord Bynarr was a large, bullish-looking man - a good 6'4" without a lick of hair on his head, muscles to spare, and a fresh scar that wept pus and looked as though his eye had been carved out with a spoon - and poorly carved, at that. He wore the only hand device to be found down here, while his ox of a first prime carried a staff weapon - at least he had until the new guy, Na'onak, killed him and took his place. While it was obvious that Bynarr usually used this display of force to inspire terror in the hearts of his prisoners, it also quickly became evident that he and Ass-Hat went way back.

Waaaayyyyyy back.

While this fact had been cause for initial worry, it seemed that Ass-Hat's reputation preceded him. Jack had later said that a goa'uld could sense another goa'uld, and yet she apparently had enough naquadah in her blood stream to fool Bynarr into believing that while Ass-Hat was still alive and well, he was such a sissy that he had let her take over the reigns while he hid in a corner of her mind and wept over his sentence.

Idiot.

Buffy's real surprise was that somewhere along the way she had become an effective liar. She honestly didn't know when _that_ had happened, but then again, a lot had happened in the years since she had been called as Slayer that lying had probably become a necessity. Seriously, only people who were bug-eating crazy could have dreamed some of this up. Master vampires, rabid hyenas, demon soldiers, snake mayors, hell goddesses... who came up with this stuff? And now she could add classified government projects, aliens, and hell-prison-moons (oh my!) to the list.

What a stupid list.

What a stupid pastime to make up aforementioned lists.

Yep, truly bug-eating crazy.

"Mmph - would you quit wiggling?"

"Sorry," Buffy murmured, taking unnatural delight in Jack's low voice - still gruff from sleep. With a small smile she allowed her body to relax back into the colonel's loose embrace, waiting for his breathing to even out to signify his slide back into sleep. For the briefest of moments, she felt a flutter of unease as her sharp hearing detected a slight rasp in his breathing - like a hiccup in the system - before she allowed her worry to slip away. While her body didn't appreciate the harsh climate of their little getaway, namely the heat, near-toxic fumes, or the lack of proper nourishment and occasional beatings, at least her slayer nature helped her ride out the worst. Jack wouldn't be so fortunate, and so far it was only his status as her 'slave' that kept him from experiencing firsthand some of the nastiness that went hand in hand with being a personal guest of Sokar in his little version of Hell away from home.

Then again, for the Hell that it was purported to be, Netu really wasn't all that bad once you got used to it - and it certainly had its advantages over the last Hell that she had visited. Los Angeles' hell dimension had been nothing but brutal, back-breaking work coupled with the isolation of the hopeless. On Netu, the only work was in keeping out of Bynarr and Na'onak's way, finding food, and protecting whatever piece of home you could claim. The real bonus, however, was having Jack for company. His sarcasm was refreshingly familiar, and his stilted outlook on life mirrored her own to such an extent that even the most brutal, horrifying aspects of their surroundings were mocked until they no longer seemed so scary or heartrending.

Not that it had all been puppies and daisies, for she freely admitted that the first few days or weeks in Hell had sucked beyond the telling. After their arrival, it had been a vicious game of survival - a game in which neither she nor Jack knew the rules. It had nearly taken them too long to figure out how to get the spoilt-looking food and tepid water that was dropped on the moon's surface - Sokar's cast-offs, she had no doubt - braving the deadly toxins and heat only to battle fellow inmates for a share of the load, then to hoard your spoils, ration them as long as possible, and repeat as necessary - which hopefully wasn't often. Matters hadn't been helped by the fact that back then, she had still been out of commission as her body desperately tried to combat whatever poison Haremakhet's snake had leaked into her bloodstream when he had been forcefully removed from office.

Those first few days were a haze of sickness (the messy kind) and being comforted, moved, and protected by Jack as he shuffled them from one location to another. They had never stayed in the same place more than once, for nothing had been defendable or even remotely safe. Once she had gotten over the worst of it, it had become a team effort to find a place where a constant watch wouldn't be as necessary. After all, if there was one real thing that Netu lacked, aside from _everything_, it was accommodations.

Unless you were one of Sokar's favorites, which in this case was a really, really bad thing, you were on your own. The favorites, however, were treated to the special accommodations of a rank cell in full view of everyone and whoever they were shacking up with that day, as well as a daily, or sometimes _hourly_ visit to Bynarr. Those visits accounted for the majority of the screams that made up the soundtrack by which she now slept, ate, chatted, and struggled to survive. And to be honest, there were many different kinds of screams. There were the screams of the currently tortured, the screams of the recently tortured, and then the screams of those who were tortured until their minds broke before their bodies even had time to. In a way, those ones were the worst for they just kept going and going and...

"Buffy," Jack sighed, his arm tightening slightly as his whiskered chin nuzzled against the back of her neck. "Wiggling. Stop."

"Sorry," Buffy returned, a playful grin pulling at her lips as she briefly contemplated turning over and wiggling in such a way that sleep would be very, very slow in returning to the man who held her possessively against him, spooning her from behind with nothing but the hard, hot rock to cradle them. Not that she could blame him. In those first few days, Jack had been given no choice but to stake his claim on her. This was, after all, a prison, and when there were all these people with nothing to do but suffer... well, most chose to find pleasure wherever they could. So, Jack had staked his claim on her in a purely chivalrous way, and by the bruises that had appeared in-between bouts of lucidity, she had no doubt that Jack had defended that claim a few times over. Since then Buffy had returned the favor, for when dealing with the goa'uld, there was no such thing as the fairer sex. It didn't matter if the host was male or female - add a symbiote and you quickly found that they could pack a punch.

"Wiggling," Jack groaned with a slight whine that had no place in the voice of a man who had to be nearing fifty.

Buffy contemplated her earlier idea for a moment more before dismissing it for the act of someone desperately bored, and severe boredom in no way made it okay to cross a line that she wasn't sure they were ready to cross - especially while vacationing in hell. And vacationing was, in her mind, all that they were doing for she had no intention of making this permanent. True, Sokar had given them a 200 year sentence, but without a symbiote and with the harsh environ, she knew that neither of them would survive even half that long. Heck, they'd be lucky if they made it a quarter of the way through their sentence. So no, this wasn't a permanent locale - merely a temporary gig until they figured out how to check out of Sokar's hellish resort.

"Buffy, you're not going back to sleep, are you?" Jack sighed, and this time Buffy didn't hold back her smile as she twisted and turned until she was laying on her other side, her head tilted back until she could see his drowsy brown eyes. Now that he was fully, truly awake, his hold was looser around her waist, and she took advantage of that fact to lift her hands between them, her fingers playing with his tattered black tee-shirt.

"I'm bored," she admitted with a small smile, not at all abashed at having woken him.

"Bored?" Jack repeated, and she could hear the frown in his voice.

"Yes, bored," Buffy confirmed as she dared a look through her lashes before returning her attention to his ratty tee-shirt. "At least in the last hell I visited there was all sorts of manual labor to keep me from going crazy."

"So... you're saying that you want to do some manual labor?" Jack hazarded as one of his large hands rubbed her back, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of her vest and caressing the hot skin beneath. "Because you could always add another boulder or two to the front step while I check on the burglar alarm," he suggested in that way that always caused her to smile. This time was no different and Buffy found her grin matching his own as she playfully slapped his shoulder and then allowed him to pull her close so that she could nuzzle her cheek against that special place against his chest, feeling like a contented cat.

It had taken days and days of fruitless searching before Jack had finally stumbled upon their own little hidden bungalow. Well, perhaps bungalow was putting it a little too grandly. He had found a narrow tunnel that was littered with obstacles from massive boulders to scattered bones, the stunted corridor twisting in such a way that it was shielded from the red light of the open lava flows that filled Netu's caverns with hellish light. The rare darkness made it seem as though the corridor ended in a collapsed wall, never once revealing the small opening that led to another smaller cavern. It was this cavern that she and Jack now called home. Here they had the dim light of a magma flow that shown so briefly in a nearby wall that the fumes were manageable, and the heat sufferable. There was room enough, once the larger rocks had been cleared, for Jack to stretch out, and for Buffy to curl against him.

It was everything that they had been looking for and more, for here they had a place away from the other denizens, safety with nothing but walls surrounding them, and after Jack had rigged an ingenious alarm system at the small opening, they could even sleep without fear of being surprised. Together they had settled into a routine of sorts, for while Buffy didn't know how long exactly they had been there, she knew that it had been a long, long time. As was only natural, they had both become familiar and less wary of their surroundings. Both she and Jack moved among the other denizens without fear, never really socializing, for honestly, most were either goa'uld or depraved monsters, or both, but still mingling with ease. And while they didn't exactly have a social circle, they still had contacts - and rumors were forever ripe in this demented little community.

"So Pishtik was telling me that he heard from Ash'tar that Na'onak used to be some kind of V.I.G.," Buffy murmured, filling the comfortable silence as Jack rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she was sprawled half on top of his lanky form, her head still pillowed on his chest.

"V.I.G.?" Jack returned as one hand continued its gentle caresses on the sweaty skin of her lower back, the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart a comfort to her.

"Yeah, Very Important Goa'uld," Buffy explained, a slow frown pulling at her lips as she detected another hiccup in the system that was Jack's breathing. The older man was human, through and through, and as she had begun to learn, humans just weren't made to survive in Netu's harsh environment. Without moving, she listened closer to his breathing and decided then and there that he wouldn't be joining her on the planet's surface for any future scavenging trips for Sokar's dinner leftovers. The only problem would be convincing Jack of that necessity.

"Makes sense," Jack agreed, his distracted caresses massaging lean muscles and causing Buffy to unconsciously arch into his touch, a contented purr slipping past her lips as all worries once more slipped away. She had decided long ago that the man's fingers, so long and narrow, were the best kind of magic. "He'd have to be pretty confident in his own standing in order to off Bynarr's goon without worrying about reprisal," he continued, as though oblivious to Buffy's increasingly distracted thoughts.

"Arrogant," she nodded before another random thought caused her brow to pucker. "Oh, Pishtik also mentioned that our newest denizen, Bynarr's new favorite, is a Tok'ra. Poor bastard," she added as an afterthought, idly noticing the way Jack's fingers stilled for the briefest moment before the caresses continued.

"Huh. Wonder if it's someone I know," he mused, and Buffy shrugged again in response.

"Seeing as how you know maybe two Tok'ra, I'm thinking that the odds are against it," she returned, all the while refusing to voice what they were both thinking - that no matter how nice it would be to see a friendly face, Netu was no place for a reunion. Even worse, that made their soundtrack far too personal if Jack knew the person who was doing at least some of the screaming. "Besides, Pishtik heard from Clos'ta that the new guy is being kept down in the Pit," Buffy continued, referring to the Pit-Of-Absolute-Doom in which only Sokra's most hated were housed. It was a cell buried even deeper within the ruined moon, heavily guarded, and a location from which once placed, you never returned. "No matter how many times you've kicked Hoftan's ass before, he still won't be bullied into letting you go down to take a peek."

"And who said I wanted to take a peek?" Jack returned, the false innocence in his voice causing Buffy to snort indignantly.

Rolling her eyes, she slithered forward until she was straddling the colonel's lean form, one hand planted on either side of his head with her long, dirty blonde hair hanging in a tangled veil around them. She was moments away from berating him for thinking she could possibly be so stupid when he turned his head to the side and coughed roughly into one closed fist. It was a short cough - something that could be waved away as nothing more than something caught in his throat, but Buffy knew better. Each hitch in his breathing that she had been powerless to ignore for weeks now came back to haunt her, and Buffy felt her heart clench with the knowledge that whatever was wrong was getting worse. Jack's body wasn't made to withstand this kind of brutal environment, and already this fact was taking its toll. And yet, as inevitable as this was, what was worse was the knowledge that when Jack died, she wouldn't die with him. Her body wouldn't succumb nearly as quickly as his, and then she would be alone. She would be alone in Netu and when that happened, this vacation would be cruelly cut short and her real prison term would begin.

"Sorry," Jack gasped, a wry smile lifting his lips as he finally returned his eyes to hers. "You were saying?"

In that moment, Buffy's face became shuttered, her worry hidden away as she instead returned his smile with one that was coy and free from the fear that caused her heart to thud wildly beneath her breast. Jack couldn't be allowed to make things worse by venturing back to the surface of Netu where conditions were that much more lethal, and yet she knew that telling him that would be tantamount to causing his stubborn male pride to dig in his heels on the subject - and yet they really did need another scavenging trip. That was okay, though, for by virtue of being female, Buffy had ways of circumventing even the worst cases of male stubbornness.

Without breaking a beat she shrugged her shoulders and returned his grin blithely. "Merely that I was going to make another run to the surface. We're all out of the gray goopy stuff, and I've been getting a real craving the last few days. Why don't I do that while you go beat on poor Hoftan again?"

She knew she had him the minute his eyes creased slightly before the goofy smile was back in full force. "You sure you don't mind going solo?" he asked with a concern that warmed her, despite both knowing that it was merely done for show. For in his eyes, Buffy saw that she hadn't played him after all, no matter how coy her smiles or nonchalant the offer. Jack knew exactly what she was up to, and yet in his brown eyes she found gratitude for her efforts.

"Yeah, I'm good," she assured, finding comfort in everything that hadn't been said as she bent down and pressed her lips against his in a move that might have surprised him if it weren't for where his large hands tightened ever so briefly on her hips. The kiss was quick and chaste, as were all of the kisses that they had exchanged in their little prison, and yet there was no denying the warmth that flooded her system as she broke away. "Be careful," she murmured before straightening and stepping lightly away, ducking through the hole and into the dark tunnel.

"You too."

**To be continued...**


	12. Chapter 12

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 12**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to this chapter the rating on this story has effectively jumped from M to a very strong M bordering on MA. I'm going to leave it at M for the time being, for I'm never very sure on how to rate these things. Just be warned that very, _very_ unpleasant things follow this warning, so _please_ read at your own risk and follow the guidelines that are associated with such a high rating. Also, another huge thanks to everyone that's been reviewing this story! It truly wouldn't be written without your encouragement, as every writer needs a good kick in the butt too keep that motivation running high. Your inspired, deep commentary will always do the trick with me. Thank you!

* * *

The passage was small and narrow, lit only by the poisonous clouds that glowed with a luminous firelight from the unstable cracks in the walls. The fumes were stronger here, but already Buffy was far enough away from Netu's surface that the blankets of ash were all but gone and she encountered nothing but heated rock beneath each carefully placed step. She had made this trip enough times that this walk had become intimate to her. Up ahead the narrow passage would widen into a larger cavern that branched into four different corridors - only one of which would take her home. Yet no matter how familiar the route, this trip was fundamentally different as she was without Jack's easy gait and amusing quips that never allowed life to be dull. Not to mention that she was sorely missing the extra set of arms.

Her trip to the surface had been a rousing success, and she had managed to amass enough 'food' and 'water' to keep her and Jack set for at least another few weeks - or at least weeks as far as they could tell time. Her arms were overloaded with battered containers, and she had even managed to snag another bit of the gray goopy stuff that somehow managed to be not as nauseating as the rest of the crap that they had been forced to eat. She was pleased with herself, and knew that Jack would be suitably impressed. More food meant less trips to the surface which equaled less danger of inhaling the more toxic fumes and gasses. That also meant less chance of getting into it with another denizen over the rotten food that everyone hoarded.

Lady Luck seemed to be smiling in her direction - and that really should have been Buffy's first clue, for since when did _that_ ever happen?

"Haremakhet."

The goa'uld's name was said slowly, precisely, and in a voice that was familiar in a way that it shouldn't have been. Buffy stopped at the entrance to the cavern, her arms tightening on her stash as she turned to the five denizens that were camped out against one wall, waiting for her. Four were unfamiliar - the usual lumping of large, brutish men - no, goa'uld. She could tell the difference now, thanks to all of the naquadah that too many dead goa'uld symbiotes had left in her bloodstream. It was sort of like being able to sense a vampire, only less like a sixth sense that came with being a slayer, and something that was tied more with her body and the way it reacted, or hummed, around a symbiote.

"You don't remember me?"

Focusing on the fifth goa'uld, Buffy knew that she had never before seen the guy - didn't know him, couldn't remember him - and yet she _did _remember him. Her arms tightened on her load without conscious thought, squeezing things in a way that ruined them more, while her eyes remained locked on his. He was short and thin, his features Asian and his face once handsome but now haggard and caked with dirt and grime. He wore robes that were once rich and beautiful, but were now ripped and frayed - patched in places with material that could have been tanned leather had there been any animals down here to skin. He was an utter stranger, and yet he-

_Cards._

_The goa'uld version of poker night._

_Seated on pillows around a low table, legs crossed beneath her. But the legs were wrong - bigger, muscular, with thick, dark curly hair pooling out around the ankles. Men's ankles._

_Looking up. Large room, dark and smoky. Hand-weaved tapestries on the wall, heady incense coating everything in perfumed clouds. Beautiful women barely dressed - servants - flitting around the table with pots of tea. Bow low and obedient._

_Across the table sits a proud man - eyes flash golden, goa'uld. Asian features, neatly combed hair, dark kohl smudged around narrowed eyes, diamond flashing in one ear lobe._

_Most beautiful of all women crouched by his side, head bowed low - lo'taur, his most trusted human slave._

_Friend._

_Ally._

_Poker buddy._

"Janus," Buffy murmured, forcibly pulling herself from the collage of vivid memories that she had no desire seeing. At the slow grin that split the goa'uld's face, she knew that she had guessed right - a fact for which she didn't know if she should be grateful or repulsed. Jack had explained that even though Haremakhet was dead, Ass-Hat wasn't truly gone forever. Not really. Willingly or not, because she was his host, no matter how briefly, his genetic memory was still with her - locked away in a place that she never intentionally meant to visit. It was moments like these, however, during which Ass-Hat's memories came to the foreground, triggered by something that would take her by surprise as she became immersed in a world that she didn't know, overwhelmed by feelings, desires, and thoughts that made her skin crawl. It was a horrible reminder of something that she would much rather forget - a violation that Ass-Hat wouldn't let her get past, no matter that she had killed him so many weeks, months, or years ago.

"Of course I remember you," she continued as she felt her tension ease. "But I'm afraid that Haremakhet isn't in right now. If you want, I can take a message and he'll get back to you as soon as he gets back," she offered nonchalantly as she entered the cavern and started angling towards the tunnel that would take her back to Jack.

"So the rumors of my old _friend_ are true," Janus murmured, the stress he placed on 'friend' enough to have Buffy reevaluate her earlier danger estimate. That and the fact that his friends quickly fanned out, blocking her exit with looks that didn't promise fun things. "Haremakhet has relinquished control to his host while he suffers his sentence in silence," Janus continued as he stepped closer until he was standing before her.

Suddenly Buffy wasn't so sure that Janus was still the poker buddy that she remembered from her brief flash from Ass-Hat's memories. Small eyes glittering in the vaporous light, the short man slowly spread his dirty hands as he looked over her sweat-streaked, grime-encrusted frame - and the burning anger and cruelty she saw in his eyes were more than enough to convince that she was definitely missing something here. Something pretty big and important.

"Listen, if you have some business with Haremakhet, it's going to have to wait," she stated, her chin jutting defiantly as she tightened her hold on her stash. "We're not even talking right now, so I was kidding about the whole taking a message thing. Just... just give it a few hundred years and maybe he'll be feeling more social and then you can try again."

"He has already waited too long for what he did to Seronin," Janus ground out, his eyes flashing gold as he took a slow, measured step forward that instinctively caused Buffy to back that same distance away. "She was _mine_!" he growled, stepping forward once more, but this time Buffy wasn't able to step back as one of his goons towered behind her, blocking her escape.

_Card room._

_Slaves are gone. Janus is gone. Clouds of incense heady, thick, dimming her view and filling her lungs._

_Someone enters the room. She is small - smaller than Buffy's suddenly towering frame - petite. Seronin, Janus' lo'taur._

_Beautiful. So beautiful._

_She is startled by Buffy's presence, bows low and turns to leave - but Buffy is amused by her, aroused by her, and she reaches forward and snares Seronin's small wrist in her large, man's hand._

_The lo'taur is angered by this, defiant, for she is Janus' lo'taur, most trusted slave, lover. She is untouchable._

_No longer._

_It is in the incense, so heady and thick - so exotic - and Buffy breathes it in as she pushes Seronin back until she is sprawled atop the low table. The slave fights, cries out, but there is no one to hear as Buffy rips at her rich clothing, revealing smooth skin and full breasts that hitch with every panicked breath._

_Buffy smiles as she climbs on top of the slave, hands hard and unforgiving as they mold folds of flesh into mounds that she can devour with eager lips and sharp teeth that mark the soft skin. She slaps the slave when her cries become too grating, and then Buffy pulls at the fastenings of her pants as her need becomes unbearable._

_The incense is so rich and cloying, filling her throat as she closes one hand painfully tight around the inner thigh of each of Seronin's legs. With a shuddering breath, Buffy pulls the slave forward, spreading her legs wide and-_

"Oh God," Buffy gasped, tearing herself free of the memory as her numb hands dropped their load into a squashed and oozing pile at her feet. "Oh God," she repeated, her hands shaking as she stumbled back, only to bump against the goa'uld who remained unmoving behind her. There was danger here - incredible danger - but Buffy couldn't shake the smell of incense, couldn't block Seronin's screams of pain and cries for help, couldn't block the feelings of triumph and dominance as she raped Seronin in the home of her master, Haremakhet's friend. God, she could still feel Seronin's skin beneath her hands, the way her flesh had tasted - a need, an arousal that was so familiar and yet so alien as she felt it from a perspective that a woman was never meant to know.

Nausea welled within her, and Buffy lifted her eyes in time to watch a hand-fashioned club swing toward her head. She had no time to move, even littler time to react, and Buffy did the only way she knew how as she instinctively raised her left arm just a little too slow, the brunt of the blow arcing off of her wrist and snapping the bone with a sharp crack that caused her to stumble back into the goon that remained standing behind her.

The pain was immediate and intense, a hot burning agony that radiated down her left arm, through her shoulder, and in a wave that flooded her torso. Buffy cried out - knew she had - but the sound was muffled beneath the thundering of her heart.

The next attack followed swiftly on the heels of the first, and Buffy wasn't any better prepared for it as the club connected with her unprotected torso with enough strength that she was lifted up and back into the goa'uld stationed behind her. Her breath was gone - a far distant friend and companion - and the agony that blossomed was so acute that darkness colored the edges of her vision.

Ribs were cracked, maybe broken, and she couldn't replace the oxygen that she had lost. Gasping, she felt her knees buckle and watched as the ground rushed up to meet her. No one slowed her descent, but by rebounding off of one of Janus' goons, her trajectory was changed from landing face down to landing face up. Her nose had been spared, but not the back of her head, and her world dimmed once more as it rebounded off of hard rock.

Then Janus' leering face was swimming dizzily before her. "That looks like it hurts," he commented, and she would have agreed with him if he hadn't of chosen that moment to straddle her with his heavy frame. Agony blossomed once more as his weight pressed against her battered ribs, and she felt her strength ebbing from cracks that she couldn't patch. "But not as much as this will," he growled - a promise that caused her heart to hammer painfully against her breast as she worked to lift hands that wouldn't respond to her increasingly frantic demands.

"No," Buffy ground out as she felt rough hands ply at her form-fitting vest, pulling it roughly away from her skin as a hot, punishing mouth descended on one breast in a way that eerily mirrored the unwanted memory she had just lived, and yet so backwards as now she was on the receiving end. There were lips that suckled until there was a new pain, one small and insignificant in comparison to that of her ribs, head, and broken wrist - except that it wasn't insignificant because this was so much worse. And then there were teeth that bit deep, broke skin, and drew blood before hands were fumbling with the fastenings of her pants.

With weak, shaking hands she tried to pull those unwanted hands away, but she was rewarded with a fierce back-hand that sent the world spinning, colored with black spots, and for the taste of blood to fill her mouth.

Gagging, gasping, reeling, Buffy resisted the allure of the darkness that lined her vision as she felt her fastenings give way, rough skin abrading her softness as thick fingers slid under the waist band and roughly worked their way between her thighs.

"No!" Buffy gasped, fear filling her as she weakly lifted her shaking hands and stretched them towards the hazy blob that defined her attacker. But then there were voices, shouting, and the sharp sizzle of electricity before the hated hands withdrew and Janus fell forward, crushing her beneath his weight.

Then there was pain, agony, as whatever was cracked became broken as darkness consumed her.

* * *

When the world finally came back, Buffy's mind was fuzzy and cluttered with images, sensations, and fears that she didn't understand. There was a fiery pain in her chest that burned with each shallow breath, her left wrist felt hugely distorted and almost separate from the rest of her body, and she _ached_ in ways that she couldn't describe. Her head pounded, and she only remembered that her wrist was broken when she lifted it to explore the wetness that she could feel matting her hair to the back of her head. In that moment, with that fiery burst of agony, the assault came rushing back.

Whimpering softly, Buffy ignored the pain as she quickly sat up, her right hand hastily pulling at the hem of her vest and the fastenings of her pants - startled on both accounts to find her shirt back in place and her pants tightly tied. She didn't understand - _couldn't_ understand, for the last thing she remembered before blacking out was the feeling of someone's rough hands on the skin of her stomach, someone's hands at her pants, pressing, pushing inside of her. Someone-

"Buffy Summers."

Crying out, Buffy used her feet to propel her along the hot stone until her back slammed against a cave wall. Pain radiated out from her broken ribs, but Buffy blocked it as her eyes skipped past her attackers, all dead and crumpled around where she had lain, the smell of burnt skin and spilled blood filling her nose from where smoldering holes had ended their lives. They were dead, but that did little to stop the onrush of memories as she lifted her gaze to the tall figure that leaned casually against his staff weapon against an empty corridor entrance.

"Na'onak," she whispered, recognizing Bynarr's first prime instantly. He was tall and lean, skin dark and dirty, but his face, as always, remained hidden behind a mask that hung on narrow features. He was looking in her direction, and despite the immense _everything_ that she was feeling, she was still able to connect his staff weapon to the wounds that had stopped her attack from going any further. She was even able to take the connection one step further to deduce that not only had Na'onak stopped the attack, but he had also straightened her shirt and retied her pants before she had regained consciousness. The only real question was why.

In Netu, there was no such thing as a knight in shining armor, aside from Jack. Even those that they had become friendly with would never have stopped Janus and his goons, unless they had been planning on taking their place. This was a down-trodden, dirty place, and only the strong survived while the weak became weaker. There was no reason for Na'onak to have done what he did. No reason for him to stop-

"Haremakhet is dead," Na'onak stated. It wasn't a question, nor a demand for answers - just a statement of fact. And yet it was the familiar and unmistakable voice, no matter how impossible, that finally registered as Buffy hastily reclaimed her feet, her uninjured arm wrapping protectively around her throbbing waist.

"Apophis," she murmured, dread and wonder coloring the goa'uld's name as Bynarr's first prime nodded once in acknowledgement of her startled realization of his true identity before he turned and disappeared from sight - leaving her alone with her dead attackers. All at once, everything that had happened, everything that could have happened, and everything that had almost happened flooded her. Buffy reeled, and black spots dotted her vision as she turned and blindly fumbled for the tunnel that would bring her away from this cavern and back to the only place, to the only person with whom she could be safe.

Her senses were overloaded and her body blazed with hurt, and yet all of it seemed distant now to the fog that tried desperately to dampen the memories of those hands upon her, violating her in the most base and primal of ways. She felt dirtier than even a reality of months without bathing could inspire, and yet worse was the skittish way in which she moved, the way her eyes darted over every single person she encountered until she was half running, half staggering down one tunnel after another until she barreled into their little sanctuary.

"Hey, you're back," Jack greeted, somehow oblivious to the way her breath hitched in her chest as she caught sight of his back turned towards her. He was going through their food supply in a corner of their dwelling, his head turning only briefly towards her before he resumed his work. "Listen, I think I managed to convince Hoftan to let me in with the Tok'ra for a few minutes. Thing is, he's going to want something pretty good in return. I was going through our supplies and if you were able to get something decent on the surface... Buffy?"

Startled, Buffy raised her head towards Jack, but she couldn't see him clearly through the tears that were rapidly filling her eyes. Without thinking, she lifted her left hand to wipe them away only to be reminded of her broken wrist - her sharp cry of pain surprising them both and instantly bringing Jack to his feet.

"You're hurt!" he exclaimed, his worn features growing tight and his eyes narrowing as he crossed the distance between them in two long strides.

Gently she felt him take her hand in his, and she had to fight the reflex to pull away from his touch. The memories were still too close and vivid, she could still feel the hands-

"Damn, that's broken," Jack hissed, interrupting her thoughts and causing her to blink dazedly, clearing her teary vision as she looked up into his concerned brown eyes. "What happened?" he asked, and it was perhaps the warmth, the caring in his voice that was her undoing. Without thought, Buffy's good hand fell to the fastenings of her pants, her eyes dropping down to follow the movement and she felt, more than heard, the hitch in Jack's breath as he made whatever connection she was unable to voice. "God," he hissed, and the next hand that he laid on her shoulder was trembling - whether from shock or rage, she couldn't tell. "Buffy," he whispered again, and this time he sounded so broken. So very, very broken.

"It's okay," she whispered, finding the words buried somewhere deep down inside as she lifted her head and met his eyes. He looked shattered - even more shattered than she felt - and somehow that suddenly seemed unbearable. "It's okay," she repeated, and this time she knew that she meant it. At least, she knew that if it hadn't been okay, and even if it still wasn't okay, it _would_ be okay. "They didn't... he didn't. They're dead," she finally managed, and somewhere she even found a ghost of a smile. The smile didn't reach her eyes, barely twitched her lips, but it was enough as she watched as Jack somehow pulled back on his rage, on his shock, and instead fixed her with a look that was filled with something else. Something warm and comforting. Something that looked a scarily lot like love.

"Are you..." Jack began, pausing to lick his lips nervously. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, and now his hand was no longer shaking, but gently squeezing her shoulder, as though afraid touching her more would be bad. Bad like she may shatter, or bad like she would pull away.

"No - I mean, yes, I think a few ribs are cracked - maybe broken," Buffy amended distractedly as Jack's fingers ghosted down her side before tentatively pressing against her skin. Once again his touch was light and hesitant - the touch of a stranger, and suddenly _that_ didn't seem right. She had almost pulled away from his first touch on her skin, and with a dawning realization, Buffy saw how easy it would be to always pull away. It would be so scarily easy to associate all touches like those of Janus and his goons. To connect each touch from friend and stranger to that of the one who tried to violate her - of the one who almost succeeded in raping her. And suddenly, she didn't want that.

"Jack," Buffy whispered, his name filled with so much sudden desperation that he instinctively took a step back - taking him further from her, as though his proximity alone could add to what had been done to her. But that was the last thing that Buffy wanted - the last thing that she needed as she followed him, once more closing the distance between them. "I need... I need you to touch me," she continued, feeling the tears burn her eyes, clog her throat, but pushing past them as she met Jack's solemn expression. "I need to remember your touch, not theirs. I need to remember that it can be good, that it can be-"

"I don't want to hurt you," Jack returned, cutting her off with his words and the pain that shone in his dark eyes.

"You can't," Buffy stated, knowing it to be true. Angel had hurt her; Parker had hurt her; Riley had hurt her - but Jack. Somehow she knew that with Jack it was different. Maybe it was his age and the maturity that went with it, or maybe it was all of the darkness, pain and loss that had shaped him into the man he was, or the friends and loved ones that had buoyed him up, but whatever it was, she knew that she could trust in him. And in that moment, his gentle, careful, loving touch was the only thing that could make things right.

With that thought guiding her, Buffy used her good hand to push Jack back until he was pressed against the wall of their little cavern, her body seamlessly melded with his own. She was sure that her ribs were a mangled mess, but the pain was pushed aside as her right hand wrapped around the back of his neck and guided his lips down until they were fitted against her own. With a soft sigh she parted her lips and invited his tongue into her mouth, even as she felt his hands hesitantly slide over the smooth contour of her back and rest lightly on the curve of either hip. It was hard at first - hard to ignore the wash of fear, to drive back the need to shy away, and hard to distinguish in her mind that what just minutes ago had been loathsome, terrifying, and horrendous, was now sweet, wonderful, and not only okay, but something that had long been building between them. Something perfect.

She was a slayer, born to fight, but this assault hadn't been against the slayer; it had been against Buffy, the woman who still thrived in the darkness in which she lived. The slayer could handle the beatings and the pain of injuries, but the slayer could do nothing against the emotional impact that went with this. Buffy, however, could do something.

Buffy was strong, and Jack made her stronger.

Soon Jack's hesitation disappeared, his kisses more earnest and deep, and his hands igniting trails of fire in their wake. She felt alive - fully and truly alive for the first time in a long time. Her breaths were coming in gasps now as his mouth trailed a path from her lips to her jaw, her jaw to her neck, down lower as his hands worked their magic. She was alive and burning with warmth, desire and... and she was burning. Really, really burning.

"Jack!" Buffy gasped, alarm trilling through her body as she instinctively clutched him tighter against her body, ignorant of the flare of pain from both her broken wrist and cracked ribs. Every nerve ending tingled and flared with an unnatural warmth that wasn't really painful so much as disturbing. "Jack!" she hissed again, adding a slap to the back of his head for good measure.

"Ow! What?" he demanded as he tried to pull back, only to find that Buffy was holding on with slayer strength now. "I said wha- ow! Buffy, too tight!" Jack grunted, and Buffy willed herself to loosen her hold as the burning intensified. Fear coursed through her veins, and her body seemed to be reacting without her permission as it clung to her only safe harbor in this strange world.

"Jack, something's wrong. I don't... I'm burning!" she stated, her voice a shade away from panicky. "I can't-" she began again before her world exploded in light. It was as though something had grabbed a hold of her at the molecular level, and she felt herself lose substance, lose cohesion, lose _Jack_ before she felt herself reassemble in a way that was every bit herself from her still aching head, cracked ribs, broken wrist, and overall state of nasty, dirtiness.

She was dizzy and disoriented as her eyesight cleared, as though after being exposed to a flare of sunlight, to reveal a confused jumble of colors and shapes that slowly settled into-

"Willow?"

**To be continued...**


	13. Chapter 13

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 13**  
**by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** My apologies for the delays in getting this chapter out to you all, and my profound thanks to all of you who continue to drop reviews for this. Your encouragement is what drives me - and does it help to say that recent encouragement has encouraged me to the point that I'm already nearly finished with the next chapter? Keep them coming, for this won't get finished without your help!

* * *

"Willow?"

"Buffy!"  
"You're really here!"  
"I can't believe it finally worked!"

Immediately Buffy was overwhelmed by too many arms pulling her close, only to be pushed in another direction for another set of arms that didn't seem to want to let her go. She was in her house - her living room, of all places - only the furniture had been pushed back and a space cleared in the middle of the floor. Her friends surrounded her, Willow and Tara now holding onto each other with tears streaming and huge smiles on their faces, Xander and Anya fighting to be heard, while Dawn jumped up and down and Spike lounged against a far wall, his scowl a distant memory to the grin he now sported - one that took years off of his weathered features. And then Giles was standing before her, tears unabashedly running down his weathered features as he pulled her close for yet another hug that did little to help her busted ribs.

"We just knew you had to be alive somehow," Willow stammered, and from the way she struggled to catch her breath, Buffy guessed that she was only now tuning into what had been a constant stream of words from her best friend. "We tried to do a resurrection spell a few weeks back, but it didn't work, and not just because we were interrupted by the demons on motorcycles!"

"What?" she murmured, her brain dazedly trying to make the jump from finally making hot and heavy and desperate _something_ with Jack in their prison-moon world to being thrust into her living room - a room that was so clean, cool, and _normal_ and everything that the last hellish part of her life hadn't been. She supposed that she should have been grateful that she and Jack hadn't had time to get to the part where clothing would have been optional.

"I came back as soon as I heard," Giles rambled as he pulled her back for another jostling hug - one that she both relished and at the same time had to fight not to pull away from. Everything that had happened to her was still too close - too raw - and months of having the only positive skin on skin contact come from Jack had limited her world view until instinct demanded that she strike out at those clamoring to hold her close. They weren't Jack, and experience had taught her that unless they were the colonel that she had come to depend upon so very much, then she needed to get away. "I am so, so very sorry. You had to have been dead for the portal to close-"

"Speaking of which, how are you _not_ dead?" Xander interrupted as Giles reluctantly released her.

"Yes, you should be dead," Anya added, of course somehow managing to say it in a way where it sounded as though Buffy had done something wrong by still being of the living. "Although, maybe if you were dead you'd be less smelly," the former vengeance demon added as she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"I-" Buffy tried to explain, without really knowing how to explain, when Dawn interrupted with a bright squeal.

"I helped with the spell!" she exclaimed as she jumped over into another overly enthusiastic hug which this time had Buffy wincing in pain. "Well, Angel gave us some help, seeing as how they're pretty familiar with portals and other dimensions, what with Connor and all."

"Who?" Buffy tried as she pulled away and hugged her good arm protectively against her ribs. Not that her sister seemed to notice in her excitement.

"Willow used my keyness to get you back from... where have you been, anyway?" she asked as her overexcited hopping finally settled, a frown pulling at her pretty features as she seemed to really look at Buffy for the first time.

In that moment, a stillness settled over the room as everyone followed Dawn's gaze from the top of Buffy's blood-matted hair to her tattered, stained clothing. Confused, Buffy turned to the mirror that had always hung over the fireplace mantle and frowned at her reflection. It was the first time that she had seen herself since... well, probably since she had died jumping into the portal to save Dawn, and she looked different. She had lost a lot of weight, causing her skin to appear stretched over pointy edges and ridges. Her hair, once so beautiful and well-cared for, now hung in long, oily and tangled clumps that were matted with blood and other things better left unmentioned. Her skin had always had a healthy, vibrant shine - tan in the summer or winter, thanks to southern California living - but now it was so covered beneath grime that it appeared a disgusting gray that was disturbed in long lines from sweat tracks and Jack's fingers.

Jack.

Suddenly the world came clear as that one thought had Buffy spinning desperately back to Willow. "Send me back!" she demanded, her eyes burning with an intensity that sparked a riot of utter mayhem in her friends.

"The bint's gone crazy!" Spike proclaimed, pushing off from the wall as though he had been expecting this very thing. Then again, judging from the way Dawn burst into tears and Xander turned regretfully away, maybe they all had been expecting that.

"How long has it been for her?" Dawn murmured around sniffles as Tara pulled her into a motherly hug. "What if it's been hundreds of years-"

"How long _have _I been gone?" Buffy asked calmly, interrupting her sister's tirade as she turned questioning eyes back on her friends.

"One hundred seventy-nine days," Spike answered automatically before staring at her in surprise. Apparently calm and collected questions didn't mesh with the craziness from which she was supposed to be suffering.

"Nearly six months," Willow clarified as everyone shared a look that, while Buffy was pretty rusty, she still interpreted as 'maybe not crazy - reserving judgment.' But then Willow's and Spike's words were sinking in and Buffy shook her head in wonder. Six months. That was practically a lifetime to someone who was only twenty, yet at the same time it had felt so much longer. Years longer.

"We... we didn't know," Buffy murmured distractedly as she cradled her broken wrist against her body.

"We... we who?" Xander asked for everyone as Giles cautiously stepped forward, as though approaching a wounded animal.

"You're hurt," he observed, his gentle eyes taking in her damaged wrist and the way she cradled her arm against her ribs. "You should let me take a look at that," he offered as he held out his hand, but she could only shake her head in return.

"You don't understand," she murmured, feeling suddenly so very tired. She was home again, suddenly, unexpectedly, and while she knew that she was supposed to be feeling giddy with joy, or at least relief, instead she only felt a pulling dread at the fact that she was safe while Jack was still stuck there in that hell. She had disappeared right out of his arms, and she knew that he had to be going crazy this very moment trying to figure out what had happened. She needed to get back there, she needed to save him, and yet it took only one look at the furtive glances that her friends were sharing for Buffy to realize that some back story was needed before she could get the help that she truly needed. "I haven't been in another dimension, I was on another planet. Glory wasn't a hell god, but an alien... I think," she murmured before waving away the last statement. "To be honest, it doesn't really matter, and I can explain that all later. Right now I have to get back to Jack."

"Who is Jack?" Giles returned, and Buffy had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the patience she heard in his voice that did little to disguise his disbelief. How could they face the supernatural on a daily basis, and yet still have a hard time swallowing aliens? Did she not mention the bug-eating craziness of their lives?

"Jack's a... he's a friend," Buffy finished, stumbling awkwardly over a word that didn't give their complex relationship the depth that it deserved. However, the truth was that she was incapable of finding a better one. Comrade? Too impersonal. Cohort? To Machiavellian. Lover? She snorted at that thought. If her friends hadn't of interrupted at the moment they had, then perhaps that word would have worked. "He's a colonel in the United States Air Force - he works for the SGC."

"He grades baseball cards?" Xander asked, the apparent non-sequiter throwing her just as much as the rest of her friends, judging by the strange looks they were now giving the tall Scooby. "What?" Xander demanded defensively. "SGC. Sportscard Guarantee Company. They grade baseball cards and put them into nifty hard plastic holders," he explained only to further the blank looks that were being leveled in his direction. "Hey, I was a little boy once-"

"Once?" Spike snickered, causing Xander to glower in the vampire's direction.

"Yes, and a lot more recent than some others that I could name," he said with a pointed look to Spike and then Giles. "And little boys collect baseball cards. Jesse and I were very manly with the baseball card collection."

"Overcompensation for when we'd play Barbies," Willow added helpfully, much to Xander's horror as Buffy merely shook her head - torn between amusement and gratefulness at the familiar twists and turns of their conversation.

"No, the SGC, as in Stargate Command," she explained with a brief, fond smile at everything that she had been missing for so long.

"Wait," Xander protested, obviously eager to move beyond the Barbie slip, "so all this time you've been trapped on another planet with some guy in the military?"

"No, not all of this time," Buffy quickly negated. "We were on a spaceship for a long time, too," she explained hastily. "We've only been on Netu for... never mind," she ground out as the skeptical looks multiplied. "Listen, I have to go back," she repeated as she found her way back to the point that had gotten lost somewhere amongst baseball cards and Barbie dolls. Probably right about the same place as her sanity, if the incredulous looks were any judge.

"But we can't send you back," Willow said slowly and patiently, despite the fact that she obviously thought Buffy had gone crazy sometime during the six (_six!_) months that she had been gone. "I wouldn't even know where to start! We were only able to retrieve you from... well, from wherever you were-"

"Netu," Buffy supplied helpfully.

"-because you and Dawn share the same blood. It was kind of like retrieving Dawn's other half," the redhead finished with an apologetic shrug.

It was a shrug that did little to solve her problem, and Buffy found herself floundering in the wake of apparent defeat. Here she was home, safe and sound, and yet Buffy couldn't even imagine beginning to enjoy being back - not when Jack was still stranded. They had been a team for so long now, the only person that the other could depend on, that alone she felt bereft. Even when surrounded by her friends and family, she felt strangely adrift. These were the Scoobies, the people for which she had made her sacrifice in the first place, and yet that connection hadn't been reestablished. Six months was a long time by anyone's standard, and though they were small, she could already see the changes that she had missed. Dawn looked a little bit older, everyone's hair a little bit different, and Giles a little more gray around the edges. They looked worn, yet they had been worn by grief, and not the hardships that she and Jack had shared and _Jack was still back there!_

With that thought clawing at her brain, Buffy pivoted on her heel and turned from her friends. She couldn't deal with them - not now, and not when Jack was still on Netu. She needed to get back to him, to get him free, she needed-

"Where are you going?"

The hand on her arm had been unexpected, and though Buffy managed to prevent lashing out, she couldn't help the defensive crouch that she had fallen into. Her body was tensed and coiled like a well-oiled spring, her stance guarded, and even though her mind was telling her that she was home now, had nothing to fear, six months of hell had created instincts that were going to take time to disband - not to mention the attack that- "I'm... I'm going to Colorado," Buffy explained, desperately pushing away the all-too-recent memories. Her mouth suddenly felt full of cotton - or maybe that was just the residual rush of adrenaline that she was tasting - and slowly she straightened.

Xander had been the one to reach out to her, and she saw the wariness with which he now watched her as he juggled himself from foot to foot. "What's in Colorado?" he asked, and Buffy looked past him to see that the excitement her friends had initially felt at having her returned was now marred with that same wariness. She wasn't the same person that she had been when she had died for them six months ago, and while they may have been expecting that, the reality was apparently something quite different. _She_ was different and it was going to take time to adjust to the changes - but it was time that she didn't have right now.

"To be honest, I'm not really sure," she admitted with a slow shrug, wary of upsetting them further but still feeling the pull to leave, to go, to just _get_ there. To get to Jack. To-

"What? Buffy, this is crazy!" Dawn protested as she tried to step closer, only to have Willow and Tara hold her back. To protect her, keep her safe. The 'you're crazy' seemed to go unspoken, but Buffy heard it nonetheless.

Instinctively she felt her hackles rise as she narrowed her gaze and straightened her back. "I'm going, with or without your help," she stated firmly, faltering when Dawn's confusion melted into tears. Only these tears weren't tears of joy for having her sister returned to her, miraculously from the dead. No, these were tears of confusion and hurt and _fear_ that maybe she hadn't gotten her sister back, after all. Instantly Buffy felt abashed as she pushed gently past Xander until she was standing before her sister.

Dawn had a growth spurt while she was gone, Buffy realized with a small, sad smile as she tilted her head ever so slightly to look up into her little sister's eyes. Reaching up, she meant to wipe Dawn's tears away, but she stopped as she was once more reminded about how dirty her skin was. It was contaminated with the grime, dirt, blood, and hate of Netu, and it somehow seemed that to touch Dawn's flawless skin would be to pollute it. Instead, Buffy lowered her hand and met Dawn's tear-stained gaze with another small, sad smile. "Jack and I, we... we were in a bad place. I know you guys are having a hard time with this, but you have to believe me when I say that it was some alien whack-job's version of hell, and it wasn't pretty," she explained as she expanded her view until she could look at all of her friends. "You guys have to understand that I left a very, very good friend behind and there are people in Colorado that may be able to help get him back. So I need to go. Now," she murmured as she smiled once more at her sister before turning and heading for the door.

For a moment, she was afraid that she was going to have to follow through with her threat of doing this on her own, but then she was reminded of why she had always counted on her friends for so long. They had never let her down before, and they certainly weren't going to now.

"I'll drive," Xander offered with a careless shrug as he reached over to kiss Anya soundly before grabbing his keys off the mantle and heading for the door. Smiling her thanks, Buffy paused on the threshold, turning back to smile once more at everyone that she loved, before following Xander out into the dark night beyond.

* * *

The small chamber was a dark void - a home no longer. The scenery hadn't changed. There was the tattered rags that served as their bed. There was the corner that held their meager food supplies. There was the crudely crafted knife Buffy had stolen - blade of sharply fashioned bone, handle of jagged rock. There was the small fissure in the craggy rock that emitted the reddish hell light and the heat of liquid magma. The scenery hadn't changed, and yet _everything_ had changed.

Time had passed since Buffy had disappeared - how long, Jack had no way to measure, and yet it was time enough for him to realize that he had no idea how to fix something that he had no way of understanding how it had become broken. He had been standing just there, against that wall, and Buffy had been so real, so alive. Her hazel eyes, usually so steady and sure, had been red and desperate, her lashes matted with tears. Her shoulders, generally so strong and capable, had been shaking - her body trembling against his own. She had looked at him and he had known - he'd _known_ that someone had somehow done some _thing_ to her. Some _thing_ that was irreparable. And Jack hadn't been there to stop it. He hadn't been there to protect her, and with that knowledge that same _thing _within him had broken. After everything that they had been through, after everything _she_ had been through, she had been broken and that, more than anything else, had finally broken him.

But then she had looked at him.

Buffy had looked at him and she had asked him to touch her. There had been so much need in her eyes as she had asked him to help her forget what had happened to her. And so he had. He had held her. He had touched her. He had kissed her with all of the passion that had been building between them during all of their long weeks and months of captivity. His body had been pressed between hers and the hot, jagged rock, her skin sweat-streaked and pliant beneath his questing hands and everything had been so real, so right.

And then the world had changed.

It had happened so fast. She had said his name, and there had been fear in her voice - fear and desperation. She had squeezed him so tightly that his chest still ached from the force of her bruising grip. She had said his name a second time, had cried out that she had been burning and then... and then she was gone.

His arms had folded around himself and Buffy was gone.

With a tired sigh, Jack ran a shaky hand over his whiskered chin. He was sitting in the same place where he had been standing, his knees having given out on him the moment that Buffy had simply ceased to exist. His back ached, his chest ached, and his butt had gone numb hours ago - and yet Jack just couldn't find the energy to move. For three years now he had lived in a world that defied explanation, and yet that fact did little to soothe the pain that had tightened like a fist over his heart.

Buffy was gone, and without her, this world, this prison, was suddenly much, much darker.

* * *

"For the tenth time, just tell them that Buffy Summers is here and that I have information about the location of Colonel Jack O'Neill," Buffy stated, her tone far sharper than it had been ten minutes ago.

"From when you were held prisoner together on a spaceship," the young guard returned, his eyebrows hidden somewhere beneath the cap that was pulled tight over his closely cropped hair.

"Yes," Buffy returned indignantly from where she hung over the center console, simultaneously invading Xander's personal space while glaring out his driver's side window. It was an awkward position at best, stooped over as she was in an attempt to convince the two idiots that were guarding the outer gate with their big shiny guns that she wasn't completely crazy, and that yes, she really did have a valid reason to want to pass through their steel-barbed, wire-rimmed gate in order to enter the huge, cavernous entrance of Cheyenne Mountain.

She was tired, she was in pain, she was dirty, smelly, and gross, and she was desperately in need of seeing Jack - and to make matters worse, she was so cold that her breath was creating a frigid plume of air. After all, Netu had been meltdown-hot. Sunnydale had been pleasantly warm. Colorado, however, was turning out to be bone-numbingly cold. There was snow, freaking _snow_ on the ground, even though it was only early November (_November!)_; and despite the hot air that pumped out of the heating vents, Buffy's exposed skin (and to be fair, there was quite a bit) was covered in goose bumps. She was shivering, she was cold, and she was trying her best to ignore that as much as she was leaning towards Xander's open window, Xander was doing his best to lean as far from her as possible. Yeah, like she hadn't picked up on the fact that she was smelly when he had first cracked the windows just ten minutes into their road trip.

"Idiots," Buffy muttered, her eyes rolling towards Xander in time to catch him edge just a little bit closer to the open window, his mouth working overtime to prevent his nose from taking another whiff of Eau de Netu-Buffy. "They act like they don't really know what's going on here."

"Probably because they don't," Xander returned good-naturedly as the guards, cookie-cutter images from her Initiative days, conversed with each other before finally picking up the damn phone and making a call - most likely to another idiot at another stupid checkpoint somewhere in the darkened tunnel ahead.

"Channeling GI Xander?" Buffy sighed as she tipped back into her seat, thereby finally allowing Xander some cleaner breathing space.

"Well, that and common sense," Xander admitted with a quirky grin that caused Buffy's heart to flip with what was becoming a familiar twist.

In the fifteen hours that they had been on the road together, a slight crinkle of the corners of his eyes, the way his hands would dart from the steering wheel to make a point, or his Xander-like laugh would take her by surprise, making her feel like she had never been gone. Unfortunately, those times were tempered by something else - an off-hand comment, an unfamiliar turn phrase - anything that would drive in the fact that she _had_ been gone, and gone so long that things had happened while she had been away. Nothing dramatic, but enough, all the same.

"A secret this big isn't likely to be shared with the door grunts," Xander continued with a small shrug - this one familiar.

It took a beat - most likely a beat too long, judging by Xander's concerned gaze - but Buffy nodded her agreement. Over the course of their many miles together, the concerned gaze was another thing that was becoming familiar. Too many pauses, too many moments lost to her thoughts - some good, most bad. She didn't even notice them, and yet judging by the concern that she could still read in Xander's gaze, she knew that he _had_ noticed them. He had noticed them and had added them to his tally of 'Ways That Buffy Was Not _Buffy_.'

She couldn't help but think that the list had to be getting pretty long by now.

"You've been cleared to the next check point."

Buffy didn't even bother to acknowledge the guard's words as Xander rolled up his window, waited for the gate to swing open, and then eased the car forward. As has had often been the case during the fifteen hours they had been on the road, her mind proceeded down its own path.

In hindsight, there had probably been a better way to go about this rescue mission. At the time, she hadn't been able to look past her urgent need to get to Jack. In her mind, that meant motion. It meant motion to the point that standing there for even a moment longer would have been impossible. Jack was in Netu, alone, and she _knew_ how much that tipped the scales of bad. She couldn't even imagine what she would have done if Jack had just up and disappeared out of her hands. Putting herself in Jack's place, in his own dark and somewhat twisted mindset was even more difficult. She just needed to get to him, and any movement seemed like movement in the right direction. Then again, yeah, there probably would have been a quicker, if not better way to get to Jack.

It took fifteen minutes for them to call Willow and ask for directions to Colorado - which led to Buffy realizing that writing was like riding a bike. She hadn't used a pen, nor paper, nor even scribbled words in the dirt or ash during all of her captivity - and yet here she was writing like she hadn't just spent six months going without the written word.

It took four hours more for Willow to call back with detailed directions to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, otherwise known as the home of NORAD. According to Willow, it was the place where one Colonel Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill had been stationed up until he was listed as KIA. Willow had been thrown by that one, because not only did this apparently prove that Buffy wasn't as crazy as they had all believed, but according to what she had managed to hack, Jack had been listed as the second-in-command, 2IC, of a project studying deep space radar telemetry. Her brainy friend had then asked how in the heck someone studying deep space radar telemetry managed to get themselves killed in action. It was a good question, and one that prompted Buffy to explain (to everyone back home, via speakerphone, and to Xander, who was listening with barely contained excitement beside her) all about the realities of space travel and stupid, nasty, demonic aliens that inhabited people's bodies via wiggly snakes. It had brought back a lot of just-under-the-surface-and-never-going-to-heal memories, but Xander had been intrigued, and it had helped to pass a good majority of the next three hours.

By that point they were now well past Nevada and nearing the end of Utah, and Buffy had finally noticed that Xander practically had his head hanging out the window as he drove, falling temperature be damned. The strangest thing was that after all of her time in Netu, Buffy had really and truly stopped realizing how bad she smelled. After all, it wasn't as though there was anything down in their corner of hell that smelled any sweeter. Still, Buffy could take the hint, and at the next gas stop she had barricaded herself in the woman's bathroom and somehow managed to clean the majority of the dirt, grime, and assorted nastiness from her face, neck, and arms. By that point Xander had been knocking at the door, and with his help she had then secured an ace wrap around her healing ribs, and another around her badly set wrist. He had again tried to insist on swinging through a hospital, but there hadn't been time, nor explanations enough for her current condition.

Yeah, she still stunk - as evidenced by Xander's noisy mouth-breathing - but a girl could only do so much when the need to go, go, _go _was imprinted so heavily on everything that she did. Worse, however, was the nagging feeling that even if she was given a hot shower, ample soap, and brillo pad, she would still feel dirty. After all, there were some things that could never wash out, no matter how many layers of skin you scrubbed away. You couldn't just scrub away the feeling of unwanted hands touching unwanted places, of Evil slithering, sliding and winding itself inside your body, of another's mind touching your own, _invading_ your own... taking over.

No, there wasn't enough soap in the world to fix that one. Then again, Buffy mused as they pulled up to yet another gated checkpoint, with all of the waiting that they were now forced to endure at their current destination, maybe she could have taken the time to at least try and scrub it away.

**To be continued...**


	14. Chapter 14

** Godless Provenance: Chapter 14  
** **by Lisette:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note: **My profound apologies for the length of time it's taking to get these chapters posted. I have been traveling (a _lot_) in the past six months and seeing as how the hunt for a great laptop is still in process, my writing hasn't exactly been very portable (my desktop weighs a _ton_). The good news is that no matter how long it is between updates, this story will never be abandoned. The bad news is that until I find my new laptop (Merry Christmas to me!), there are no promises on how much time that will be. Still, here's to a new chapter and a bright 2007!

Oh, and reviews are of course not only welcome, but essential to the writing process.

Seriously.

And a huge thanks to everyone how has reviewed in the past (thanks Ivy Gort!) and to Ria for unwittingly giving me an early Christmas present by way of a very, _very_ cool photo manip of Jack and Buffy. While she had intended it as bribery for me to post quicker, I instead used it as a very welcome source of inspiration. You should be able to access it on my author's page - enjoy and THANK YOU, again, to Ria for her creativity!

* * *

As was par for the course, Major Sam Carter's mind was going in ten different directions on ten different projects when she stuck her head through General Hammond's open office door. "You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked, her eyes skipping past the balding general to where Daniel slouched in an armchair while Teal'c stood at attention off to the side. The presence of her teammates surprised her enough that six of the ten projects were forgotten, and she unconsciously straightened as the general nodded his greeting to her before turning to the side.

"Sergeant, you mind repeating what you just told me?" he asked, his southern drawl sharpening to a point as Sam turned, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the shorter man for the first time. Idly, she wondered once more how he was able to blend so effortlessly into his setting so that she never really noticed his presence until he was needed - which was often.

"Yes, Sir," Sergeant Walter Harriman returned, obviously fighting the urge to salute the general, and after hearing Hammond's tone, Sam couldn't blame him. It was unusual for anything to get the easygoing Texan so uptight. "The guards at the main checkpoint called down. They have a young couple up top asking for SG-1," he explained as his eyes darted to her before returning staunchly to Hammond's cross features.

"Did they use our team designation?" Sam asked, her curiosity peaked as she eased further into the room and slid into the seat beside Daniel.

"No, ma'am," the sergeant returned - this time with an obvious air of unease. "They specifically asked for Carter, Daniel... and Teal'c," he returned, his words causing everyone to sit straighter as pointed glances were exchanged. After all, Teal'c rarely left the base, and then only when in the company of one of his team members. He had little cause to know anyone else, and even less for anyone off-base to know him. On his rare trips above ground he was always introduced as Murray, and never - _never_ as Teal'c.

"I do not understand," Teal'c rumbled as he arched a brow expectantly - Walter cringing under his piercing gaze.

"She said that her name was Buffy Summers," Harriman quickly continued, pausing only when the name caused everyone in the room to start and stare with a greater intensity. "She said that she has information about Colonel O'Neill's whereabouts."

"But that's not possible," Daniel protested as he nervously adjusted his glasses. Yet despite his protests, Sam couldn't help but notice that his voice was tinged with the same desperate hope that even now caused her hands to grow slick with sweat. "How could Buffy have gotten back if not through the stargate?"

"Perhaps in the same manner in which she left Earth," Teal'c suggested, his flat tone betraying little.

"So, then you believe this young woman to be the same one that you encountered on Apophis' ship?" Hammond asked, his eyes piercing them each in turn.

As had become par for the course in the months since the colonel had been missing, Sam cleared her throat and answered for her team. "We can't say for certain until we see her, sir, but... how many Buffys can there be?" she asked, and this time she recognized the same hope in her own voice. Unbidden, unwanted, she felt that cold, dead part of her heart burn with a hope that they had buried with an empty casket several months ago.

The question had been rhetorical, but as usual Teal'c ignored this fact as he rumbled his disagreement. "None, as it would seem from our earlier attempts to locate her family."

For a moment, silence reigned as Hammond leaned back in his chair, his eyes shrewdly inspecting each of her teammates in turn. It was as though he could see as all of their months of painful grieving and putting the past behind them slowly unravel before his eyes. "I don't like this," he admitted, and with that statement she knew that he wasn't referring to the couple that waited above ground, but to the very real fact that this lead could turn out to be nothing, as they all had been, and when that happened, it wouldn't be as though they could go back to where they had been just five minutes ago. No, this unexpected hope had torn off the newly mended scab and the wound would bleed fresh and deep once more. And yet, once again, Major Sam Carter found that she didn't care.

"General," Daniel whispered, the word a soft, heart-wrenching plea.

Sighing softly, General George Hammond nodded his acceptance to the inevitable. "Sergeant, have her and her companion brought to the briefing room," he ordered, nodding to the empty room just beyond his shuttered window. "Let's hear what the young woman has to say."

* * *

The journey beneath the surface of the mountain was enough to awe Xander into silence - well, either that or all of the men with guns. To Buffy, it was like the Initiative on a much grander, and drabber scale. For one thing, there seemed to be less scientists running around in white coats. Jack had said that there were scientists in the mountain, but maybe they were on a different level. For another thing, there were more soldiers here - and these soldiers weren't the cookie cutter college boys from the Initiative, but an older, more well-seasoned and diversified blend. They even seemed to have _women_ here - and that was saying a lot in comparison to the sexist branch of the military that she had become accustomed to. Then there was the change from the blinding, sterile white of that long-ago death trap to this unadorned, boringly gray cement that made up everything in this underground world.

She wondered if Jack ever got sick of the stale, recycled air. She wondered if he ever missed the bright sunshine or the shifting trees.

Then she kicked herself, for after Netu, even this concrete tomb was paradise.

She was drawing a lot of stares in her been-living-in-hell state of garb, but not as much as she had expected. Yet according to Jack, these people were quite used to the weird. They received alien visits on a pretty regular visit. Hell, aliens lived _ here_ with them, _ worked_ with them. She wondered if they thought _she_ was an alien. Then again, with all of the aliens that had died within her body, maybe she was part alien now, after all.

It was at that point that she stopped wondering, stopped thinking altogether, for while she didn't mind the occasional curious glance from the occasional random soldier, she couldn't stomach the concerned gaze that her vacant stare and bone-deep shudders drew from Xander. She hoped that he thought she was just cold, and he probably would have offered her his jacket, but the fact was that they had just driven from southern California and Xander was just as ill-equipped for the trip to snowy Colorado as she was. Okay, so maybe Xander was a little more well-equipped, even if his baggy jeans and over-sized tee-shirt were gaining him more curious stares than her own bedraggled appearance - and didn't _that_ say a lot about this place?

"You can go right through here, ma'am," their own specially armed soldier stated, interrupting her thoughts as he indicated an open door beside them.

Nodding her thanks, Buffy followed Xander through the doorway and immediately froze upon the threshold. The room was large and spacious, a conference table surrounded by comfortable looking chairs sitting smack dab in the middle. There was a circular stairway that went both up and down in the front right corner, a door in the left, and a large window that was covered by a thick metal plate that was stretched in between the two. It was a lot of empty space, and yet it felt unbelievably full as her eyes locked upon the three familiar people that were seated towards the head of the table.

At their entrance, Sam, Teal'c, Daniel, and a short, portly man came to their feet. The stranger had been sitting at the head of the table, and by the neatly pressed blue shirt, darker pants, and the unmistakable balding head, Buffy knew him to be the General George Hammond that Jack had spoken so fondly about. As for the other three, Teal'c looked unchanged since she had last seen him, but Carter's blond hair was longer - a girlish cut that framed and softened her features, making her look years younger. Daniel, too, looked different. His long, shaggy hair had been cut so close that it almost looked military, making him look older than before. He had also obviously been working out in the months since they had last seen each other on Apophis ship.

They looked good. Really, really good, and that knowledge made Buffy feel worse than awful. These were Jack's friends - his family. He should have been there with her. He should have been clapping Teal'c on the shoulder, smiling at Carter, and teasing Daniel about his new haircut or his smaller glasses.

He should have been there.

Suddenly Daniel broke the shocked, tense moment as he bounded away from the table and practically bounced towards them. He was all smiles and happy, shining eyes, and yet Buffy unconsciously found herself tensing and drawing back - too much time in Netu coloring even this simple reunion. Xander's response was immediate, and he moved until he was standing behind her, looming over her petite frame as she felt the reassuring press of his chest against her back. And while that was so backwards to her - Xander being all protective while she cowered - she welcomed his presence all the same.

Daniel, obviously noticing her and Xander's reaction, stopped a few paces away, his smile faltering momentarily before he beamed at her. "Buffy!" he exclaimed, his surprise and genuine happiness adding to his obvious enthusiasm.

"Daniel," she greeted, his warmth so contagious that she managed a small smile for the archaeologist. "How's the head?" she asked then, even as she recalled Jack's reassurances of his best friend's very, very hard head.

"What? Oh, fine. Fine," Daniel reassured with a negligent wave. "It wasn't anything that Janet wasn't able to patch up," he explained as his smile suddenly faltered. It was in that moment that her own appearance seemed to register.

Wryly she watched as his brown eyes narrowed in concern as they swept over her form, mentally cataloguing the varied changes from when they had last parted. Emaciated? Check. Gorgeous blond hair now a mangled ruin currently being held back by a rubber band? Check. Sunken cheeks, bruised eyes, dirty, torn, and blood and grime-stained clothes that were once burgundy, that once hugged sleek curves and now hung on her waifish frame? Double check. Oh wait - and the narrowing in upon the hastily splinted wrist and the hint of ace wrap peering beneath the tattered vest, not to mention the bruises that were now in the greenish stage of recovery? Yeah, let's make that a check, check, check.

"It looks like you could use a visit to Janet yourself," he stated, the worry in his voice both appreciated and amusing at the same time. Same old Daniel. She barely knew the guy, had barely had the time to get to know him, and yet he had hurt himself trying to help her back on Apophis' ship, and here he worries about her first instead of grilling her about Jack, as he should have been doing. "What happened?"

"Netu didn't exactly agree with me," Buffy returned, a small grimace pulling at her features as she looked past him to where the others were doing their own silent appraisal. Sam seemed to share in Daniel's concern, and even Teal'c seemed a bit perturbed - which was saying quite a bit for him, if all of Jack's stories were any indication. It was the older guy, the general, however, that really surprised Buffy. He actually looked kind of mad, and Buffy couldn't help but hope that the anger wasn't directed at her.

"Netu?" Sam questioned, causing Daniel to blush in a way that, no matter how different he looked, still screamed Daniel.

"I'm sorry," he stated as he turned back to the others. "General Hammond, this is Buffy and..." he trailed off as he looked helplessly at where Xander continued to loom threateningly behind her.

Well, at least he was trying his best to look threatening, Buffy decided with a small, wry smile as she turned and looked up at her towering scooby-bodyguard. "And this is my friend, Xander," she continued smoothly, patting his arm reassuringly before she turned back to the waiting group.

"My pleasure," General Hammond returned before clearing his throat and pointedly looking from Xander to where their armed soldier was still waiting beside them. "And if you wouldn't mind, perhaps Xander could wait outside with-"

"Oh, don't worry," Buffy interrupted, forcing a bright smile as she linked arms with her friend. "I've already filled him in on the stargate, the goa'uld and... well, everything else," she continued as Hammond's expression darkened and everyone else looked at her in surprise. Well, everyone excluding Teal'c. He just inclined his head as if to say, 'of course you did'... or maybe that meant, 'oh no you didn't'. Oh well, from the sounds of it, Jack had been working closely with Teal'c for two years now, and he still didn't even have all of the big guy's looks down. Yet when the looks continued, Buffy shrugged defensively. "What? Fifteen hours in a car is a lot of time to kill, and after spending the last six months with someone who doesn't appreciate long silences anymore than I do-"

"Jack's okay? He's alive?" Daniel interrupted eagerly, and in that moment Buffy realized that while Daniel had most likely been truly concerned about her welfare, his overriding concern always had been, and always would be his best friend.

It was this thought that caused Buffy to forgive their earlier incredulousness at her loose lips as she smiled at the desperately hopeful man. It was easy to remember her friends and family's own excitement, hope, and disbelief at her return - and that was when they were they ones that had brought her back. To have this dropped on Jack's friends, when they had no hope of it ever coming true, as evidenced by Willow's bombshell of Jack having been declared Killed-In-Action a few months back... "He was when I left him," Buffy stated with a small smile that faltered despite the collective sigh of relief. "Then again, he's probably going crazy wondering what happened to me."

"And what _ did_ happen?" Daniel demanded as he led the way over to the conference table. Everyone seemed to take this as their cue as they all settled into their chairs like they did this kind of thing everyday. And who knew? Maybe they did. "Apophis told us that Jack was... well, in hell," Daniel finished awkwardly.

"Oh, he is," she returned, and at the startled looks that were exchanged, Buffy realized that she needed to give them a little more than that. "Another goa'uld, Sokar, kicked Apophis' ass," she explained as everyone save Xander, who had already been given the whole story, stared at her with unwavering attention. "By that point," she continued, "Ass-Hat had taken over and..." she trailed off as another round of looks were exchanged. These looks were a bit more difficult to decipher, and Buffy faltered for a moment. "You do know who Sokar is, right?" she asked, and by the bemused expression that Sam shared with Daniel, Buffy wondered if she had clarified the wrong part of her explanation.

"Yes, we learned about Sokar when Apophis died," Sam explained slowly.

"Oh, Apophis isn't dead," Buffy quickly corrected, and at this point she couldn't accurately describe how she felt at saying those words aloud. After all, Apophis was the puppet master behind all of the torture, degradation, and horrors that she had experienced upon his ship for so very long. Then again, he had been the one to save her from Janus. And wasn't _that _reminder just a bucket full of fun?

"I just, uh..." Buffy stammered, forcibly pushing the memories away as she tried to focus once more on the group. She was conscious of Xander's hand where it had crept around her own, his large fingers encasing hers in a reassuring grip. "I just ran into him about, what? Sixteen hours ago now?" she asked as she turned to Xander for confirmation before a sudden thought had her swearing in goa'uld. This caused more startled looks, but Buffy was beyond caring as she slapped her good hand against her forehead. "I forgot to tell Jack about Apophis before Willow pulled me out!" she exclaimed as she turned hurriedly back to SG-1 and their boss. "Apophis is masquerading as Na'onak, Bynarr's second-in-command," she explained - but apparently that wasn't explanation enough as Sam quickly held up her hand, her head shaking from side to side.

"Wait, pulled you out?" she demanded with growing perplexity. "Pulled you out _ how_? How did you get back without a stargate?"

To this question, Buffy could only shrug her shoulders in response. "Magic," she answered, almost - _ almost_ smiling at the way the captain recoiled at her response. Yeah, she didn't think that the older woman was going to like that answer. "Listen, long story short, one of the symbiotes that they kept sticking me with finally took," Buffy explained, doing her best to sound nonchalant about something that had been so profoundly terrifying. Yet if the horrified expressions of the others were anything to guess at, she must not have been doing too well. "His name was Haremakhet," she continued, forcing her voice to remain even. "Jack called him Harry, mainly just to make him mad, and he was a favorite scientist cum torturer of Apophis. Oh, and he was an Ass-Hat," she added in afterthought.

"Wait, you... you were a host for the goa'uld?" Hammond interrupted, and something in his voice had Buffy quickly hurrying to reassure the man.

"Only for a few days - weeks, tops," she hastened to explain as the silence once more descended with a vengeance. Sighing in the stillness, Buffy realized that even if she had before, since Netu she certainly didn't do well with heavy silences. "Listen, it was kind of inevitable," she said, unable to help the defensive note that crept back into her voice. "Even a slayer can take only so much-"

_ "No," Buffy ground out as she felt rough hands ply at her form-fitting vest, pulling it roughly away from her skin as a hot, punishing mouth descended on one breast..._

_ There were lips that suckled until there was a new pain, and then teeth that bit deep, broke skin, and drew blood before hands were fumbling with the fastenings of her pants..._

_ Gagging, gasping, reeling, Buffy resisted the allure of the darkness as rough skin abraded her softness and thick fingers slid under the waist band and roughly worked their way between her thighs-_

The flash had been brutal - bright and all-encompassing. It left her startled, quiet, reflective. Shaken. Suddenly she felt Xander's hand upon her shoulder, and she looked at him and saw that his face was not only creased with concern, but pain, and she followed his pointed gaze to where she was crushing his hand in her own. Silent, she released her grip and slowly turned back to where the others were exchanging looks again - ones that she didn't want to decipher. Suddenly it was so clear that after everything that she had experienced, being taken over by Haremakhet wasn't even the worst.

She cleared her throat. Softly. Pointedly. "So, long story even shorter," she continued, more subdued, but as if she hadn't just fallen silent for who knew how long, "Ass-Hat convinced Sokar not to kill us and we were sent to Netu. It's a moon that orbits Sokar's home planet, and Sokar has turned it into a prison that rivals Bosch's vision of hell. It sucks there. Badly. And I need your help to go back and rescue Jack."

Once more looks were exchanged, and this time Buffy was content to let them do their little huddle as she leaned back in her comfy leather chair. She was tired; exhausted, even, and yet she knew that there was no time for sleep. No time for rest. Not until they freed Jack.

Finally Daniel broke the silence as he shifted awkwardly in his chair. "Of course it makes sense. The Goa'uld impersonating the Devil would naturally create a place like Netu. Netu is from the book of Am-Taut," he explained, which caused Buffy to frown briefly at what was beginning to sound suspiciously like a Giles-like lecture. "It is kind of a how-to guide to passage through the ancient Egyptian otherworld regions, and many of those regions are described as dark places with pits of fire home to hellish monsters and the damned-"

"Which all sounds about right," Buffy interrupted with a bored sigh, "but that still brings me back to the more important point of my needing your help to go back and rescue Jack."

This time her answer was more expedient, but it was certainly not the answer that Buffy had been expecting as Sam arched a blond brow at the small slayer. "How?" she asked, that single world causing Buffy to deflate in her comfy leather chair.

"If I knew how, why do you think I would have wasted the last fifteen hours getting here?" Buffy demanded as she crossed her arms pointedly across her chest. "Don't you have a spaceship for something?" she asked, and this time she needed no explanation for the dismayed looks that her question garnered.

* * *

If Hoftan had noticed anything amiss, the guard wasn't saying anything. Buffy had been gone now for a long, long time. Not weeks - not yet - but certainly past hours and well into days. For much of that time, Jack had entered into a sort of fugue. It was as though his brain had shut down, for no matter how much his body had complained he hadn't moved. It seemed as though the world should have stopped when the petite slayer, his one link with home, had disappeared out of his very arms - and for him, the world _had_ stopped.

At least, the world had stopped until Jack finally put the man away and let the soldier take over. He didn't know what had happened - he had no way of understanding it or making it right - and so the soldier demanded that he push the puzzle away, lock it tight in the box where so many other unfixable things were stored, and move onto the next task. He was on a prison moon that was lethal in so many ways, from the company he kept to the squalid food he ate and the very air he breathed, that survival was more a matter of luck that was already running thin. There was little he could do to change his situation - little to improve upon it - and yet that didn't mean that he was completely without tasks to focus on.

Survival meant finding something worth living for - worth struggling towards. He needed a goal. It needn't be something so grandiose or impossible as escape, for even something simple to divert the mind would help him keep his sanity, and at this point, his sanity was the only thing he could control. His waning health? Out of his hands. But his sanity... yes, his sanity could be his goal, and he could hold onto it if only he could keep busy. As an old CO used to say, idle hands were dangerous. Dangerous to the mission, and dangerous to himself. And so Jack had filled his idle hands with what little food stuffs he and Buffy had left. Continued survival would mean another trip to Netu's toxic surface, one that his body wouldn't thank him for, but that would be tomorrow's problem. For today, there was only an appointment with a nameless Tok'ra that he had already left for too long.

And so he had given all of his food to Hoftan, and Hoftan, in turn, had allowed him access to the Pit. As the name suggested, the Pit was buried deep within Netu - so close to the planet's molten core that the heat was even worse - very nearly to the point of being unbearable. The only entrance was the one that Hoftan guarded, and it was heavily barred - impassable. It was shadowed and yet not dark, for there were many magma vents that bathed the Pit in fiery light - vents that pumped in noxious fumes that caused his throat to burn and his already weakened lungs to struggle for each breath. This place was toxic, a true vision of nightmares, and yet it was here that Jack found the Tok'ra that every odd said he shouldn't have known.

"Jacob?" he breathed, his stumbling gait halting as the pacing figure before him froze and turned slowly so that the red light bathed him in hell fire. His shoulders were hunched, his face covered with both dirt and blood, his balding head glistening with sweat - and yet it was Jacob Carter beyond any doubt. Jacob, former decorated Air Force general and current Tok'ra host to Selmak - the only Tok'ra Jack had ever trusted. Jacob, father to his 2IC. Jacob, his friend. "Jacob, what the hell are you doing here?" he breathed as the man took a hesitant step closer, his dark eyes growing wide with recognition.

"What am I doing here?" Jacob returned as he limped the distance between them, stopping when only a few feet separated them. "Jack - what the hell are _you_ doing here?" he returned as he slowly reached a hand out, hesitating just inches above Jack's shoulder, as though afraid that touching him would prove that he wasn't there - or maybe worse, that he was. "We received word that you had been captured by Apophis months ago. How in the hell did you end up in Sokar's backyard?" he asked as his hand wavered before falling back to his side.

"Cliff notes?" Jack asked as he reached forward and clasped Jacob's shoulder in his strong grip. The older man looked both surprised and relieved at the touch, his stance slowly softening from his stiff posture of disbelief to one that Jack recognized well. It was a stance that spoke of too much pain and the relief at finally being able to lower your shields enough to allow that pain to shine through. "Sokar kicked Apophis' ass and the Big Guy decided to sentence me and a friend to Netu for the next two hundred years," Jack explained as he reappraised his old friend, not liking what he saw. Jacob looked like he had been worked over pretty well, and yet from experience, Jack knew that it was going to get worse, and never better. Jacob had been put in the Pit, after all, and this was the place for Sokar's most favorite of inmates. The Denizens that were placed here were removed only for their daily, sometimes hourly sessions with Bynarr.

No, things were not going to be getting better for Jacob ever again.

"Sokar defeated Apophis?" Jacob murmured, his eyes growing wide as he slowly eased down into a pained slouch against a nearby wall.

"Yeah - and quite a while ago, too. You didn't get the memo?" Jack asked as he mimicked his friend's position along the back wall. From the looks of things, it seemed that Jacob was currently the only resident staying in these choice accommodations. To be honest, Jack didn't know if that was good news or bad.

"No, but that's not altogether surprising. I was on a deep-cover mission for the Tok'ra when I was captured, and had been out of contact for quite a few months."

"And yet you still got the memo about me?" Jack asked with a quirked smile - one that almost felt real.

"Sorry to say, Jack, but you've been missing for quite a few months more than that," Jacob explained, a wry smile lifting his own bloody lips.

And yet despite Jack's best efforts, he found his smile faltering beneath Jacob's casual words. He had guessed that he had been gone for quite some time, but guessing and hearing confirmation were two different things entirely. The question of how long, exactly, was on the tip of his tongue, and Jacob smiled sadly at him - as though he knew what he was going to ask. Instead, Jack surprised them both when he instead asked, "So, aside from getting caught, was your mission a success?"

Arching a brow, it looked as though Jacob was going to pursue it before letting the matter drop. "Yes, it was. I was able to learn that Sokar is getting ready to launch an attack against six key system lords, and seeing as how his fleet is ten times larger than we thought, he'll win."

"And that's a bad thing?" Jack hazarded.

"He will control an army big enough to rule the galaxy," Jacob stated, simple words that proved his point far easier than any long-winded explanation Daniel could have come up with.

Jack grunted in return, his brow furrowing as he considered the problem - not that there was anything he could possibly do to help. "When is this all supposed to happen?"

"The attack was due to take place two weeks from the time I was captured. That was the day before yesterday."

"Oh."

**To be continued...**


	15. Chapter 15

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 15  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Due credit given to SG1 episode 3.12 (Jolinar's Memories) for a few great lines.

**Author's Note: **Thank you again to everyone who has taken the time to review. Your thoughts and encouragements are always appreciated, and sincerely do help in the drive to post as quickly as I possibly can. In addition, please check out my revised homepage, www(dot)equinoxium(dot)com, for a full listing of all of my stories, in addition to any associated artwork. Don't worry, very little of the artwork can be attributed to my unskilled hand, and instead they mostly feature different photo manipulations that were done by others - very talented others. With their permission, I'm now hosting these images on my website for all to enjoy - for seriously, who doesn't enjoy a good photo manip that truly brings our imagination to life? And if anyone else is feeling similarly inspired, just email me and I'll be sure to add your image to the collection! Thanks again, and happy reading!

* * *

Six months. It had already been six months during which Colonel Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill, his second-in-command - his friend, had been missing and presumed dead. All of his belongings had been boxed up, his house had been placed on the market, and his ex-wife had helped bury an empty casket beside the plot that her son occupied. He had encouraged his personnel to grieve for their fallen officer, to accept their bitter loss, and then he had helped them to push past that grief by showing them that life went on. Their enemies had not vanished with Jack's death, and instead, it seemed that they only doubled, tripled, and grew more complex with each new mission. He had led by example, and yet in the course of the two hours in which Buffy Summers had been on base, General George Hammond watched as all of their hard work became undone, their progress evaporated, and suddenly he felt as though he was once more looking at a base that had just learned that one of their own was missing - and somehow he just didn't care as much as he probably should have cared.

The base grapevine was effective, if nothing else.

Even now, sequestered as she was in the base's infirmary, Buffy Summers' presence was deeply felt by everyone at Stargate Command. He could feel it in the curious glances and hopeful salutes he had noticed on his way up to the twenty-first sub-level. He could sense it in the suspiciously heavy traffic that meandered past the closed doorway. He could hear it in every single whispered breath that stopped whenever he drew near. The cat was out of the bag and if everyone didn't already know that this young woman had been with their missing colonel within the last day or two, everyone was bound to know soon enough.

The young woman in question seemed oblivious to his assessing gaze as she sat on a gurney against the back wall of the infirmary, her tall friend lounging against the wall beside her. According to one of the orderlies, the young man had only left her side when the need for a shower and the more intrusive types of exams were called for - and even then he had stood as a grim-faced sentry either outside the bathroom door or closed curtain. If Summers minded her friend's diligent guard, she hadn't said, and instead endured all of their exams with little comment or evident emotion. Even now a fresh-faced nurse was busy putting the finishing touches on a bleached white cast that encased Summers' wrist from her fingers to her elbow.

She was a small girl - petite in stature - and the thin hospital gown that she wore somehow made her seem even smaller. She was all pointed knees and elbows, hard angles with not an ounce of fat to soften her curves, and her legs and arms were nothing more than sinewy muscle. She looked emaciated, in desperate need of a good, home-cooked meal, but at least the grime had been scrubbed from her skin until it shone pink, and her long hair now lay wet and glistening down her back. Her dark eyes were large in her hallowed face as she glanced briefly in his direction, dark lines smudging the skin beneath, and all at once Hammond was struck with just how young she looked. The intel that he had gathered said that she was twenty years old - nearly twenty-one. She looked fifteen, if that.

"Well, she's definitely malnourished and severely underweight," Dr. Janet Fraiser sighed, drawing his attention back to the small redhead that cradled a clipboard against her chest, her stethoscope caught in between. "We found evidence of three cracked ribs, one broken, but those are mostly healed. There was nothing that we could do but tape them so that they can finish healing. Her wrist had also been broken at one point, and badly set, so we had to re-break the bone before we could properly set it and put it into a cast," she explained as she nodded back to where her nurse released the young woman's hand, her instructions too far away to be heard. "The thing is," Janet continued, her hesitation causing Hammond to meet her eyes, noting the darkness that lined her tired gaze, "Buffy mentioned that the ribs and wrist were only injured in an assault that took place approximately eighteen hours ago, and yet the injuries look weeks old."

"BuffySummers stated that she heals uncommonly fast," Teal'c stated, his voice solemn as Hammond turned long enough to notice that the doctor's prognosis had caused SG-1 to look even more down-trodden, if such a thing were possible. He imagined that they were already transferring her poor state of health to their missing colonel - a thought that caused his own anger to once more jump up a notch. It was a state of anger that had slowly grown since the moment that he had first laid eyes upon the young woman. She was a civilian, an innocent in this galactic game of chess, and yet she had somehow been drawn into the war that they were secretly fighting, and she had been badly hurt, used, and abused in the process. He was unable to look at the girl and not think about his two little granddaughters sitting comfortably at home, blissfully unaware of the greater dangers that thrived in their world.

Frowning, Janet shrugged her shoulders, obviously uncomfortable with Teal'c's assessment, before reluctantly tipping her head in acknowledgement. "I have to admit that I have no other explanation for it. The injuries don't support your theory, Teal'c, and yet the other evidence indicates that you might be right," she sighed before allowing her gaze to skip back to her small patient. This time, it was all too easy for Hammond to recognize the troubled set to the good doctor's shoulders.

"Was there something else?" he prodded, causing her to hesitate a moment longer before she returned his gaze.

"I think that there was more to the assault than just the injuries that were found," the doctor admitted, her brown eyes showing her reluctance as she once more glanced at the patient in question before pulling her clipboard closer to her chest. A thick silence followed her words, and Hammond could see Daniel actually bite his lip in order to prevent himself from interrupting. "Not only is she very uncomfortable with physical contact, but she noticeably tenses in the presence of my male orderlies - and I wouldn't be surprised if she scrubbed off more than just a few layers of skin when she showered," Janet finished, her expression growing more troubled with every word.

"You think that she was sexually assaulted," Sam guessed, her features pinched with both an anger and sadness that Hammond well recognized.

With a deep sigh, Janet slowly nodded her head. "There's no physical evidence to corroborate this theory, but her emotional state certainly hints at such a recent emotional trauma," she agreed, and as one they all turned to see the patient in question now watching them with a haunted expression.

Her friend was deep in conversation with the nurse that had put the finishing touches on her cast, and she spared him the smallest of glances before she slid off the edge of the gurney and crossed the large infirmary to stand before them. Her bare feet were silent on the hard floor, and while the general knew from personal experience how cold the cement had to be, her expression didn't falter from the solemn set that added more than a few years to her young appearance.

"It doesn't matter what happened to me on Netu," she stated as she cradled her new cast against the starched material of her hospital gown. Her eyes, a bright hazel under the glare of the fluorescent lights, were hard and determined, and she met each of their gazes in turn before she settled on his own hard features. "All that matters is that we get back there and get Jack."

"You were able to hear-" Janet began, her features slack with shock.

"Slayers have good hearing. Really, really good hearing," she explained as her friend finished his conversation and hurried over just in time to continue his hovering presence. "Listen," she continued, as though oblivious to her friend's concern, "Netu isn't a place for normal humans. Jack was somewhat protected because everyone knew that he was under Ass-Hat's protection - _my_ protection - but if they find out I'm gone..." she finished weakly, her determined facade faltering for the briefest of moments to show a desperation that simmered beneath her cool exterior.

Instantly Hammond felt his earlier anger flare as he was once more reminded of the wrongness of the entire situation. It didn't matter that this woman claimed to be a mystical warrior that was predestined to fight the kind of evil that his troops faced on a daily basis. It didn't matter that his premier team somehow managed to believe most of the nonsense that she had fed them. It didn't even matter that the woman claimed to be part of the reason for the disturbance that had caused his number one team to go missing in the first place. All that mattered was that this woman, this barely-out-of-her-teens _civilian_ had been put through a horror that no US citizen - that no _person_ deserved to endure. However, the absolute worst part was that he was still looking for a target for the anger that he was barely able to control.

"We've put out word with our allies about Colonel O'Neill's.. situation," he stated, stumbling over a word that was so inadequate to describe the trouble his 2IC had managed to land himself in this time. "Unfortunately, we're still waiting to hear back from them. In the meantime, we would like for you to remain here at the base," he continued, his anger finally quieting to be replaced with distaste for what he was requesting. "I understand that you have been through a lot, but we may need to talk to you again before a rescue mission is approved. You have valuable intel about Colonel O'Neill's location, and until that time we'll have some quarters set up for you and your friend-" he broke off, his features creasing in concern as he finally noted her bland expression. "Is there something the matter?" he asked, his eyes skipping from her pale features to where her friend was rolling his eyes.

With an indelicate snort, Buffy Summers regained his attention in a manner that no one had achieved in the many years since he had received his first stars. Somehow, in the brief moment that he had looked away, she had erased any hint of the battered victim that he had been imagining, only to replace it with a look of vaulted, youthful indifference. "Only if you really think that I would just come all the way here, give you guys the news, and then head back to California," she stated, her words a lazy drawl that were betrayed only by the tense set to her shoulders.

"I understand that you are worried about Colonel O'Neill," Hammond countered, the deep lines on his forehead creasing in a frown as Buffy shook her head in time with his words, "but I assure you-"

"Maybe I didn't make something clear, here," she interrupted, her smile hardening into a frown that matched his own, and in that moment, the illusion of youth vanished beneath the hardened exterior of a veteran soldier. "Whatever rescue mission you guys come up with? I'm going with you."

Shifting in surprise, more at what he saw than what he heard, Hammond nonetheless curtly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Summers, but that's just not possible. Not only are you a private citizen dealing with a highly classified project-"

"I think that you'll find that I already have some kind of security clearance," Buffy interrupted with a tight-lipped smile. "I was given that clearance when I worked with another of the government's highly classified projects, the Initiative - and that was before I helped to take them down and then clean up the mess that they left behind. Trust me when I say that the government owes me - big," she finished, her head tilted to the side in some kind of a challenge that had Hammond struggling to control his temper.

"A story which I plan on verifying," he agreed, his eyes narrowing upon the small blonde. "But even if you _were_ granted clearance, which, no offense, is highly unlikely, the fact still remains that you are injured. We do not send injured people off-world," he stated, his words ringing with a finality that not even Jack had learned to discount.

This time she let him finish, but it was only to rebuke his words with a harsh laugh that was cut jarringly short as she lifted her cast and waved it rudely before his face. "Are you worried about this?" she asked as she took a small step towards him.

Instantly her friend was by one side, Teal'c on the other, both of them gripping her shoulders as they tried to pull her back, muscles visibly straining in a way that belied logic as she shrugged off both of their grips and continued forward until she was standing well within his personal space. She now had one fist planted on either hip, seemingly unbothered by her new cast, as she tilted her head back and glared up at him. "Or are you worried about me being some little girl that should be out playing College Co-Ed instead of fighting the kind of battles that I've been fighting since I was fifteen?" she demanded, the rest of the world falling away as he looked down into her irate glare. "General Hammond, maybe the others haven't truly filled you in on what it means to be the slayer. Allow me," she stated, her eyes flashing with her anger. "I am faster than your fastest runner. I am stronger than your strongest soldier. I am a better fighter than your best fighter, and I have an instinctive ability with whatever weapon you put in my hands. Oh - and this?" she asked as she once more lifted her cast. "Yeah, I heal faster than anyone you have ever seen. My ribs will be as good as new in a few hours, and my wrist not long after," she continued in such a way that she wasn't boasting, but merely repeating facts.

"Miss Summers-" he began, an idle protest that was stopped with a single frown that deepened invisible lines on a face that was so young.

"I know Netu," she interrupted, her voice quiet with intensity. "I have lived there, fought there, and _survived_ there for months. I know which tunnels to take and which to avoid; I know which denizens will be a problem and those who will stab you in the back if you give them a chance; and most importantly, I know where to find Jack," she stated as she once more crossed her arms across her chest, her stance relaxing imperceptibly as she cast him a small, lethal smile. "So if you even _think_ of trying to cut me out of this mission of yours, say so now and Xander and I will pack up and head back to California - and we'll find our own way back to Netu."

In the silent moments that followed the furious dressing down that he had just received, General George Hammond battled a flurry of emotion. There was the obvious anger and embarrassment and abject humiliation at being addressed in such a manner before his subordinates by a mere wisp of a girl. Not even his own superiors ever dared talk to him in such a manner. Those emotions were justified, normal, and to be expected. What he _hadn't_ expected, however, was the fact that he was suddenly finding himself very, very impressed with the young woman who was even shorter than Dr. Fraiser. Than again, after having dealt with the tom cat that was his Chief Medical Officer for the past two years, he supposed that he should have known better. If anything, it seemed that most of the women that he knew just got more irate, bossy, and forthright the smaller they came.

Oh, he still was having a hard time believing all of her incredible claims, but at the same time, he couldn't help but be impressed with her mettle. With a slow, steady smile Hammond turned from the small spit-fire and nodded towards his CMO. "Dr. Fraiser, why don't you see if you can't find Miss Summers some fatigues that will fit her. Major Carter, ensure that she and Mr. Harris are settled into one of the guest suites," he continued before nodding once more at their guests before turning and stepping into the hallway beyond.

He had some phone calls to make.

* * *

The heat was sweltering, and yet Jack had long grown accustomed to such discomforts as he shifted on the hot stone floor, his knee brushing against Jacob's. Hoftan was glowering at them both, the large, brutish Jaffa shifting from foot to foot at the barred entrance to the pit, and once more Jack found himself wondering what in the hell the overgrown brute had done to piss off Sokar to the point of sentencing him to work as one of Bynarr's guards. It had to have been bad, for being sentenced to work on Netu was hundreds of times worse than even the worst punishment Jack had ever received. No, scrubbing turkish toilets didn't even compare to this kind of punishment detail.

"I said that time is up! Na'onak will be returning shortly to bring the Tok'ra to Bynarr," Hoftan grunted, causing Jack to roll his eyes at his impatience. Offering up a lazy wave to placate the irate guard, he slowly got to his feet, grimacing at the protest in his knees - only to share a rueful smile with Jacob when he caught a similar expression on the older man's features.

"I guess you better get going, then," Jacob stated indifferently as he held his hand out to Jack - as though he really expected them to shake hands like they had just finished meeting over coffee. Yet when Jack didn't take the proffered grip, Jacob upped the scales by attempting a reassuring grin and an awkward pat to his shoulder. "Don't worry about me. Selmak and I can take care of ourselves."

"Yeah, and a hell of a job you guys have done so far," Jack returned with a bland expression, his hand clasping around his friend's as he met the retired general's weary gaze. He and Buffy's food supply hadn't bought him nearly enough time with Sam's father, and while there seemed to be more of a spark in the older man's eyes, that spark did little to combat the pained way he held himself. His shoulders were still stooped from weariness and pain, his balding plate still gleamed with sweat, and his bruised features weren't any less prominent. Not that Jack thought that he painted any better of a picture, but at least his cheeks were relatively whisker-free.

"Time is-"

"I heard you already!" Jack returned as he rolled his eyes at the impatient guard. Sighing, he turned back and nodded once more to Jacob.

"Just take care of yourself, Jack," the older man returned before pointedly turning away and limping back towards a darkened corner of the pit - as though a turned back could really make walking away any easier.

Sighing, Jack slowly shook his head before resignedly turning away. With slow, even steps he crossed the uneven floor of the darkened pit, pausing only to turn back at the threshold to the tunnel that branched into the caverns above, one foot in freedom and the other still stranded back in Jacob's prison. Hoftan shifted beside him, obviously impatient for him to leave so that the jail could once more be secured. He was a tall man, with an appearance of an age somewhere between Jack and Daniel, but with a symbiote, he probably had more decades under his belt than Jack and Daniel combined. He was at least twice Jack's size, especially now that the colonel was more sinewy muscle with no rounded edges and no fat to spare on his starved, lean form, and yet Hoftan still toppled just as easily as the next man when Jack's elbow collapsed his trachea in a move that the larger man never saw coming.

The sound of his large body hitting the floor was a muted thud that carried just far enough to reach Jacob's corner of darkness. "Jack?" he called out, hurriedly moving from shadow into light as Jack lifted Hoftan's staff weapon, the end parting with a hiss of sparking energy before Jack fired into the fallen guard and ended his life. "Jack, what the hell are you doing?" the tok'ra demanded as he paused uncertainly before the open doorway that made only deceptive promises of freedom.

"I'm getting you out of here," Jack returned with a brittle smile as he pulled the unresisting man into the roughly hewn tunnel, the staff weapon loosely hanging from one hand.

"But you said yourself that there's no escape from Netu," Jacob argued as he nonetheless fell into step beside him, his voice lowered to a fierce whisper as they steadily slipped from one twisting tunnel to the next, ever moving upward. "What's your plan?"

Holding up his closed fist at a deserted crossroad, Jack paused for a moment before motioning for Jacob to follow him down the right-hand passage. "I'm still working on that," he finally admitted as he turned long enough to throw the older man a familiar, quirked grin. "For now we'll just get you back to my place. It's hidden - no one but me and Buffy knows where it is."

"Yeah, and how long do you expect it to remain hidden now?" Jacob grumbled, one hand trailing along the hot wall for support. "Don't you think that Bynarr is going to tear Netu apart looking for me? He'll find your hiding place eventually, and then all you will have done is bought me a few more hours and sealed your own damn fate!"

At this, Jack threw him a grim smile. "It's not like I had anything better to live for. Not anymore."

* * *

"Go fish."

Sighing, Daniel slowly drew another card from the deck as Buffy grinned smugly at him from across the table. "Are you really sure that there's not another card game that we can play?" he asked as he frowned at the three of clubs that in no way matched his assortment of other cards. "Something perhaps a little less... simplistic? Jack has been teaching me poker-"

"Which is all well and good," Buffy returned with a cheeky smile, "but you can't just jump straight to playing with the big boys when you haven't yet mastered the little leagues. By the way, do you have any jacks?"

"You have no one to blame but yourself," Xander added from where he lounged on the large king-size bed that occupied a good portion of the guest suite, lazily flipping through an outdated muscle car magazine he had found in the bed stand. "You're the one who admitted that you had never learned to play the game."

"Yes, but I didn't intend that as a request to learn," Daniel grumbled as he relinquished his three jacks, causing Buffy's grin to grow as she triumphantly lay down all four of the jacks. "My life-"

"Hasn't truly been lived until you've mastered Go Fish," Buffy interrupted as she waved her two remaining cards. "Daniel, do you happen to have any threes?" she continued, smiling sweetly at him.

His frown deepening, Daniel reluctantly passed over his three of diamonds and his three of clubs. "Can someone cheat at the game of Go Fish?" he asked suspiciously, Xander's amused snort somehow deflating the innocent bat of Buffy's eyelashes.

It had been a few hours since Buffy had been released from the infirmary, and in that time both guests had settled into the large suite that was usually reserved for the most V.I.P. of visiting guests. Not that this fact seemed to impress Buffy very much as she had scanned the thin carpeting, the off-white walls, sparse furnishings and bland landscapes that hung on the walls with an arched brow. Then again, as she had pointed out after his stumbled apology, this kind of military decor was still ten times better than the accommodations that she had become accustomed to over the past six months. Even now she looked a sight better than the bedraggled, seemingly war-torn girl that had entered the mountain just five hours ago. Somehow Janet had managed to scrounge up a pair of SGC issued cargo pants in the flattering camo green, as well as a black long-sleeve cotton shirt and a pair of combat boots that were only just a little bit large for her small, waifish frame. Though still on the malnourished side of petite, she now looked that much more like the young woman that he remembered from their brief meeting so many months ago.

The bright, care-free smile didn't hurt, either.

"How about your fives? Do you have any fives?"

"Hah, go fish," Daniel quickly stated, a brief smile lifting his lips as Buffy made a big show of sighing dramatically before taking a card from the deck - which was of course when Sam finally made her presence known as he turned to find her hovering over his shoulder.

"Are you really playing Go Fish?" she asked, an amused smile pulling at her lips as Daniel flushed beneath her silent appraisal. Idly he noticed that Sam and Buffy now made a matched set in their SGC-approved wardrobe, while he, yet again, had managed to miss the memo that today's color was green, meaning that he was of course dressed in blue. For the longest time Daniel had sworn that Jack had secretly called both Sam and Teal'c each morning to warn them of the day's color, while purposely leaving Daniel in the dark so that he never matched with his teammates. And yet here he was, six months after Jack's disappearance and he still seemed to always be in flux with Sam and Teal'c's color choices. The laws of probability were against him _always_ getting it wrong, and yet the laws of probability never seemed to work in his favor, anyway.

"Any word yet?" he asked, smoothly skipping past her question as he pointedly laid his cards face down on the table top.

"None of the good kind," Sam returned as she settled into a vacant chair with a frustrated sigh, one hand running through her short blonde hair. "The Tollans of course said that they couldn't be of any help, seeing as how we are still a less advanced society, and the Tok'ra haven't yet responded to any of our messages."

"Hey," Buffy broke in, her expression brightening as she straightened in her chair. "You should let them know that a Tok'ra arrived on Netu just before I left. Maybe they'd be more interested in helping with a rescue mission if they knew one of their own was in trouble," she suggested with a small shrug.

"One of the Tok'ra?" Sam quickly countered, her posture straightening as she gazed intently at Buffy. "You don't know who, do you?" she asked as Daniel gently dropped a hand on his teammate's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I don't," Buffy returned with a sympathetic frown. "Jack told me that your dad's a Tok'ra now," she added before offering a hesitant smile. "But I wouldn't worry - I'm sure that it wasn't him. I mean, what are the odds, right?"

To this, Daniel could only frown in response. Sam's odds were certainly better than fifty-fifty, and yet even fifty-fifty odds never worked in his favor. "Come on, Sam," he murmured as he abandoned the card game with an apologetic nod to his small, blonde opponent. "We better get this new information to General Hammond."

And hope that Sam's odds worked better than his own.

**To be continued...**


	16. Chapter 16

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 16  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed this beast. You may have noticed with the last chapter that I'm trying something new: actually _responding_ to the reviews that have been left. It's actually trickier than one might think, so I apologize to any that I missed! In addition, a huge thanks to Ava for the awesome artwork that she did for Chapter 15. It's a part of her Skin Deep album, which can be found on TTH and my website at www(dot)equinoxium(dot)com.

* * *

The klaxon's peal was piercing as Sam met up with General Hammond, falling into step beside the older man as he waved for the guard to open the sealed gate room door. "It's the Tok'ra," he informed her by way of greeting, and Sam couldn't help the small thrill of hope as the door slid open, revealing the slanted walk that led up to the open wormhole. Even now, years after her first time through the gate, the sight of the vertical blue pool was enough to steal her breath, and yet this time she was more excited about the possibility that her father would be their unexpected guest.

It had been months since she had heard from him, and though such absences weren't uncommon, it was still hard to realize that she had no idea where he was, what he was doing, and whether or not he was alright. She had been the one to urge him to hear out the Tok'ra, to take in the symbiote, Selmak, and though the move had saved his life from a painful death by lymphoma cancer, that still meant that she felt as though she had pushed him into a life of constant danger. He had come back to Earth for the last time just weeks after SG-1 had escaped from Apophis' ship, and his support during that painful period, during the confusion surrounding the colonel's whereabouts, had been something that she had been missing for years during her and her father's confused and often distant relationship. That relationship had been repaired and strengthened in the time since he had become a Tok'ra host, and yet their time together was all too brief and sporadic.

Surely after receiving word that Jack wasn't dead, as presumed, and of his impossible position of prisoner to a goa'uld overlord - surely that meant that he would come back now, no matter what his mission had been. Surely he would-

"Martouf," Sam murmured as the familiar figure emerged from the open wormhole, two unknown Tok'ra accompanying him on either side. "How are you?" she continued, her disappointment palpable. Still, she tried her best to salvage the smile that she had been wearing as the handsome Tok'ra came to stand before her, a small, shy smile on his face. He was, of course, exactly as she remembered him: tall and lean, a long face, straight nose, thin lips with a cleft in his square chin, and bright blue eyes that shone from a face that betrayed every emotion. His brown hair was cut short, and was matched by his high-necked, long-sleeved shirt, tunic, and pants of matching muted colors. He was a study of brown and tan hues, with only his bright blue eyes to off-set his boyish features.

"Samantha," he greeted as he took her hand in his, his eyes filled with a warmth that was familiar from both her own encounters with him, as well as from the hazy memories that she carried from the woman that he had loved. She had been host to the Tok'ra, Jolinar, for a few days only, and yet it was because of her that all of Sam's time spent with Martouf was both wonderful and so very disconcerting. Wonderful because she couldn't deny the chemistry between them, and yet disconcerting because she could never quite be sure if the chemistry was borne from her own attraction to him, or from the memories of the love that had been shared between Jolinar and the man that she had loved. "General Hammond," he continued, breaking their gaze just long enough to acknowledge the general before returning his attention to her. "Well enough, under the circumstances," he stated, responding to her earlier question.

"Then you received our transmission about Colonel O'Neill," the General prodded, causing Martouf to once more turn away.

"And about the captive Tok'ra agent, yes," he admitted, his earnest expression shifting into something that she recognized as discomfort.

Sam supposed that in this way, Jolinar's hazy memories were a blessing as she could read Martouf as though she had been the one to know him for centuries. Right now it was easy to see that he had come here with news, but news that he wasn't eager to share. "What's wrong?" she asked, a sick feeling twisting in her gut and causing her words to come out sharper than she had intended - something that both Martouf and the General noticed as they turned to her in concern.

"Maybe we should discuss this elsewhere," Martouf returned, his expression faltering.

"It's my father," Sam stated, her voice flat. This time she didn't even need to see Martouf's bleak expression to know that she was correct. Somehow, in the moment that they had stepped through the wormhole instead of her father, she had known. Her father was many things, and their relationship had been all but nonexistent until just under a year ago, but now... now nothing would have stopped her father from coming when she needed him, not unless-

"We were able to contact all of our operatives except for him and Selmak," Martouf stated, his expression a strange, boyish mix of earnestness and despair. "I am afraid he's been captured by Sokar."

"Oh my God," Sam whispered, barely feeling the General's hand upon her shoulder as he nodded towards the door.

"I think we better take this upstairs," he stated before turning to a hovering aide. "Paige Dr. Jackson and Teal'c," he ordered. "Have them and our two guests meet us in the Conference room."

* * *

As the two men shuffled through the small opening into the small space that Jack and Buffy had made their home, Jack tried to see the room through the eyes of a stranger. The pile of rags that was their bed looked small and dreary, their meager supplies nonexistent, and the dim lighting from the single open vein of magma cast everything in a muted hell-light. "Sorry for the mess," he muttered, more force of habit than any real attempt at levity as he gestured for Jacob to take a seat on their bed of rags, not missing the sadness that marked Jacob's gaze as the older man quietly took in the small chamber.

For a moment Jacob struggled for a smile before finally letting it slip, as though even here, in this place of refuge for Jack and Buffy, happiness or even humor was such a distant memory. Jack had known some sort of happiness while here, but it was all thanks to the small blonde that had brightened this small dwelling with her wit and her soft touch. Now, it was dark and hot - and yet so very cold at the same time.

"So where is this Buffy that you mentioned?" Jacob asked, obviously striving for something to break the stifling silence that had fallen as flat as Jack's joke. "Who is she?" he asked, even as the mere mention of her name was enough to send a piercing pain through Jack's heart.

"She's from Earth - California, actually," Jack returned as he turned away, absently scrubbing his hand against his tired eyes.

"What? How-"

"It's a long story," Jack interrupted as he turned back and offered the other man a grim smile that never reached his eyes. "But it doesn't matter anymore. Buffy's gone."

Instantly Jacob's shoulders dropped as his slowly shook his head. "God Jack, I'm so sorry," he muttered, his voice a tired string of words that held little meaning. "How long ago was she killed?" he asked, the simple question somehow breaking free a brittle laugh from Jack's throat as he quickly shook his head.

"Oh no, she's not dead," he countered, cutting off the laugh before it got away from him. Before it turned hysterical, or worse, manic. "She disappeared out of thin air a few hours... a few days ago."

At this, Jacob arched a graying brow before evidently letting the matter drop. Jack was grateful for his discretion - immensely so. Everything that had to do with Buffy was still too fresh and raw. He had been able to lock her away long enough to investigate the Tok'ra that had landed himself in this hell hole, and somehow in doing so he had been able to switch out one friend for another. Perhaps this thought should have made him feel better in some way. Now he wasn't alone any longer - he wasn't alone to face the prison that he was beginning to believe he would never leave. But no matter how grateful he was to see a familiar face, Jacob's weathered features couldn't replace Buffy's sweet curves. His gruff, practical words and experiences couldn't counter Buffy's sly wit and darkened past. There could be no replacing her, and Jack accepted this as best he could - even as he mentally slapped himself for not remembering sooner that Jacob wasn't the only one trapped in this hellhole.

"Hey, how's Selmak doing?" he asked, his eyes softening in concern. "I haven't heard from her yet," he admitted.

Jacob grimaced in response as he settled his head back against the craggy wall behind him. "She was badly injured when we were first captured," he admitted. "They used an instrument that sends a current of electricity directly to the symbiote."

Wincing in sympathy, Jack slowly nodded his head. "Yeah, they used the same thing on Buffy when we were first captured," he stated, remembering how even though Haremakhet had been in control, the sounds of Buffy's screams had been horrifying. "Will she be alright?" he asked, returning his attention to Jacob and surprising himself when he realized that he really did care about the other man's answer.

"I hope so. I certainly hope so."

* * *

As Buffy stepped back into the conference room from before, this time clothed in unfashionable camo-green pants that hung loose around her legs and then cinched tight around her ankles, she was aiming for a look of studied indifference. Her long blonde hair hung in a straight, gleaming wave down her back, and her clunky combat boots made little sound on the thinly carpeted floor. She was the exact replica of any other person on base, and yet she had the feeling that she had monumentally failed in her feigned indifference if the reactions of the three strangers were anything to guess by. All three were male, and cute in that way that younger, fit people managed to be, and yet all three jumped from their seats so quickly, their arms practically waving in their excitement, that all cuteness factors were lost beneath the ridiculousness of their red-faced sputtering.

"She carries a symbiote!" one of the strangers finally managed to call out in a strangled gasp, thankfully giving reason for their hysterics.

Rolling her eyes in response, Buffy sidestepped Daniel and moved unhurriedly towards the seat that she had occupied just hours earlier. Xander was only a few paces behind her, snickering openly and ignoring her annoyed sigh. "Let me guess - the Tok'ra?" she asked as she leaned back in the leather chair as far as it could go.

"So they're really aliens?" Xander asked from beside her as he leaned forward, always at a contrast, his eyes curiously examining the wary trio. "Huh," he muttered. "I guess I expected them to look a bit more... I don't know, alien," he admitted with a dismissive shrug, causing General Hammond to glare at the tall scooby before waving the Tok'ra towards the row of chairs to his left and across the table from them.

"Gentlemen, if you'd please take your seats," he stated more than asked, while Sam, Teal'c, and Daniel filled the places to his right - Daniel settling beside Buffy's chair. "Buffy Summers, Xander Harris, these are our allies, the Tok'ra - Martouf, Sentil, and Lumben."

"Pleased to-"

"I don't understand," the one called Martouf interrupted her, his blue eyes darting between Buffy and the General. "I can clearly sense the presence of a symbiote, and seeing as how she is not of the Tok'ra-"

"No," Sam interrupted with a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes, "what you sense is the high levels of naquadah in Buffy's bloodstream from the numerous goa'uld symbiotes that were introduced to her body before being destroyed."

"Destroyed? Destroyed how?" he returned, his sight so focused on a certain blonde major that it was as though the rest of them weren't even in the room.

"Bad house guests," Buffy quipped, answering for the major and preventing a lengthy explanation that, frankly, wasn't any of the Tok'ra's business. Besides, she didn't like being ignored or overlooked, something that happened very rarely since she had been called as the slayer, and it was a feeling that had been happening all too recently since she had arrived on base. "So did you guys work out how we're getting Jack off of Netu?" she asked as she firmly inserted herself in the conversation - or at least, that was her intention.

Instead, Martouf merely looked at her uncertainly before turning back to the General and SG-1. "Jacob Carter and Selmak had spent many months positioning themselves within Sokar's forces in order to gather valuable intel for the Tok'ra," he explained. "Due to the precarious nature of their mission, our contact has been very limited. However, thanks to your information about a Tok'ra prisoner on Netu, we were able to determine that your father is in fact that captive."

Instantly Buffy felt her heart stutter as she chanced a glance in the major's direction while simultaneously sinking lower in her seat. Now she understood why Sam's shoulders were weighed down, and why her smiles didn't reach her eyes, no matter the yumminess of the Tok'ra that had the obvious hots for her. _What were the odds?_ That was the very question that she had placed to both Jack and Sam when they had raised concerns that Sokar's captive Tok'ra would be Sam's father. What were the odds, indeed.

"As far as we know he is still alive," Martouf added, his words doing little to reassure anyone as Sam quickly leaned forward.

"As far as you know?" she asked, causing Martouf to actually stop his explanation, turn from the others and lean across the huge table in order to place his hands over Sam's.

"I am sorry, Samantha," he intoned, both his familiarity with the major and his evident compassion causing Buffy to arch a brow, even as Xander elbowed her in the side, as if she wasn't somehow already aware of the undertones and obvious chemistry between the two. Now that she thought about it, Jack _had_ mentioned something about a Tok'ra that was all hot and heavy over his 2IC. "I know this must be difficult," he continued, evidently unaware of his interested audience. "Once captured, Selmak and your father would have been brutally tortured, but Sokar would rather see his victims suffer than die."

Rolling her eyes at the guy's idea of comfort, Buffy leaned forward and cleared her throat - breaking Martouf and Sam's little lack-of-comfort fest and drawing the attention her way. "Listen, Jack said that the Tok'ra was being held in the Pit-"

"And that sounds any better how?" Daniel probed, evidently feeling the same about Martouf's version of cold comfort.

"Okay, so yes, that's definitely not of the good," Buffy admitted with a small frown, one that she hastened to amend when she saw Sam's crestfallen expression. "But don't worry, Jack was planning on checking out what was going on with the Tok'ra. I'm sure that he'll find a way to keep your dad safe."

"Yeah, but for how long?" Daniel demanded, causing Buffy to turn a glare in the archaeologist's direction.

"And thus with the big hurry I've been in to get here before there was the sitting, the waiting, and the wasting of time," she countered dryly.

Immediately Xander leaned forward, his hands rubbing eagerly together as though that would somehow compensate for her own lack of tact. "So we're talking about a rescue mission?" he asked, all Xander-eagerness.

"Unfortunately, to our knowledge no one has ever escaped from Netu," Martouf explained, his voice grim.

"Aside from the Buff-ster," Xander added, this time prompting General Hammond to glare at her friend in such a way that he immediately shut his mouth and returned to his resigned slouch. To be honest, Buffy was impressed. No matter how many times a day Giles leveled his own patented glare at her friend, he had _never _received that kind of result.

Martouf, meanwhile, merely gave Xander another strange look before pointedly turning back to the others. "No one except for Jolinar," he finished, the words obviously meaning something to everyone else as they shared a look full of deep meaning.

Well, everyone but Buffy and Xander, who exchanged puzzled glances before Buffy lifted her hand in question. "So who's Jolinar?" she asked.

Another one of those deep, something glances were exchanged - most of them centering on Sam and Martouf as the older woman frowned apologetically at the Tok'ra before turning to Buffy. "Jolinar was the Tok'ra symbiote that I hosted for a few days up until her death."

"Okay," Buffy agreed, shrugging blithely. "So how did she get out of Netu?"

"She never said," Martouf returned, his eyes firmly locked on his clasped hands.

"And no one ever asked her how she escaped from an inescapable prison?" Daniel asked incredulously, causing something to spark in Martouf's eyes as the Tok'ra matched the archaeologist's agitated glare.

"She was found unconscious and badly injured in a Teltak, a cargo ship, floating in space," he explained, the first hint of steel entering his voice. "Her recovery was long and painful. She was encouraged to remember how she escaped but she refused to speak of it," he continued before lapsing into silence.

It was then that Buffy recognized that spark of something in Martouf's eyes as pain and love, and suddenly the heated looks that were constantly being exchanged between Sam and Martouf began to make a little more sense. Not that Buffy thought she would feel any sort of attraction to any of Ass-Hat's ho's if she ever came across them, but his memories and his feelings towards them would always be resting just under the surface. Still, something about Martouf's words struck a chord with her, and Buffy found herself scrunching her brow as she tried in vain to track down the elusive thought.

"Why wouldn't she tell how she had escaped?" General Hammond asked, pushing the conversation back on track.

"I implored her but she would not say," Martouf replied, his eyes once more downcast.

"Well that's convenient," Xander muttered beneath his breath, even as Sam slowly shook her head.

"I only carried Jolinar for a short time," she murmured apologetically. "I've never had anything more than scattered flashes of her memories, occasionally some dreams, but never anything like this place Buffy has described."

"The Tok'ra have technology that aids in the recall of memories-"

"Don't bother," Buffy interrupted with an angry sigh as she finally figured out what had been bothering her. Yet with that realization came the desire to beat her head against a wall.

"You have thought of something, BuffySummers?" Teal'c questioned, his dark eyes locked on her own.

"Yeah, the rings," Buffy explained as she shook her head at her own stupidity. "And I'm really an idiot for not thinking of this sooner," she muttered, realizing anew her mistake and all of the time it had potentially cost them. "Jolinar must have somehow gotten access to the rings in Bynarr's quarters," she explained. "I knew about them because of Ass-Hat's memories-"

"Ass-Hat?" one of the nameless Tok'ra murmured.

"Haremakhet," Daniel supplied before waving for her to continue, even as Martouf's eyes widened in recognition.

"Yeah, Ass-Hat was one of the original architects of Sokar's play land, and so Jack and I have known for a while about the set of rings that he had installed in Bynarr's quarters," Buffy explained. "They connect directly to Sokar's palace on his home world, and they allow Bynarr to go up and share the juicy details of his torture sessions in person. Jack and I talked about making a break for them," she admitted with a negligent shrug, "but that would only land us on Sokar's planet, which is heavily fortified. While things were pretty bad where we were, we had decided that we weren't desperate enough for a potential suicide mission quite yet. We were actually still holding out for better odds when Willow pulled me out."

"So you know, then, where the rings are located?" Martouf questioned, his eyes meeting hers for the first time.

"If you guys can get us to Netu, I can get us to Jack and your missing Tok'ra, _and_ get us to Bynarr's quarters and the rings," Buffy agreed before slowly shaking her head. "But that will still only get us a one-way ticket to Sokar's home planet, which from Haremakhet's memories, I can assure you is really _not_ a place that we want to be visiting. And that still brings us back to the problem of a spaceship, and our apparent lack thereof."

"The teltak that we require for our journey awaits us on the planet Vorash," Martouf responded, something like a smile causing his already boyish features to look even younger.

"Okay, so we have the ship," Buffy agreed with a negligent wave. When Martouf merely stared at her blankly, she sighed impatiently. "What about the part where the rings are just going to bring us to Sokar's front door?"

"We will use the teltak," Martouf responded decisively, his explanation doing little in the way of actually explaining anything - except, apparently to Sam.

"Is that possible?" she demanded, her eyes growing wide.

"What?" Buffy asked at the same time as Daniel, while Teal'c slowly nodded his head in approval while General Hammond looked on quietly. Xander was apparently the only one not interested in any kind of an explanation, but that was because he seemed to be too busy trying to bend a paperclip that he had found into some kind of spring.

"The cargo ship has rings that work like stargates, only over shorter distances," Sam quickly explained, her eyes bright. "They transport a matter stream, and if that matter stream is intercepted..."

"Yeah, I remember this now," Buffy agreed, and at Daniel's startled expression, she quickly held up her hands. "Oh, not this crazy techno babble," she hastily reassured, "but what Sam is like on the crazy techno babble. Don't you remember? Her trying to explain stargates and how they work and how we were lost?"

As though she was used to such things, Sam merely frowned before turning back to the general. "Sir, if we can maneuver the cargo ship into the correct position, theoretically we should be able to use the rings to transport back aboard the ship."

"Theoretically?" Daniel repeated, a small frown pulling at his lips.

"How do we find the right position?" Buffy added, only to blush a moment later as Xander tuned in apparently long enough to find the sexual innuendo of her innocent question.

"The ring mechanism has sensors that can locate other rings," Martouf responded with such a straight face that Buffy was certain he didn't catch the double meaning. "The ship should be able to detect the coordinates."

Frowning a moment more, Daniel slowly shrugged his shoulders in response. "Well, it's not like we haven't had to make do with worse," he argued, his eyes skipping over his teammates before finally landing on the general with whom the ultimate decision would land. "Besides, if there's even a chance that we can rescue Jack and Jacob, don't we have to at least try and get them back?"

With a resigned sigh, General Hammond nodded once to the major that sat beside him. "Alright, SG-1 has a go-"

"Hey, don't forget about what I said," Buffy quickly interrupted as she sat forward so quickly that it left her chair squeaking in protest. "Either I go with or I find my own way back to Netu - and you lose all of your much needed intel in the process."

At her words, General Hammond's lips thinned into a disapproving line. "And while I don't appreciate being blackmailed," he admitted, "I did check out your story. While I was not given any details about Project Initiative, my superiors have ordered me to allow you to accompany SG-1 through the gate and on this mission." As Buffy's smile grew at his words, his own features only darkened. "For the record, I don't agree with their decision, but it is officially out of my hands."

"What about me?" Xander asked, his knee starting to bounce with nervous energy.

"That, son, would be called 'pushing your luck,'" the general returned with a hard smile before he stood in a move that clearly signaled the end of the meeting.

Everyone that was military, meaning Sam, hurriedly stood as well in some strange military custom. Buffy, meanwhile, turned to her friend to find him watching the general with wide eyes and a slack jaw - as though he was so floored by the older man's outright dismissal that his brain hadn't yet caught up with the rest of him. "Sorry, Xander," she murmured, and in that moment, she realized that she truly was sorry that Xander wouldn't be able to come with her on their rescue mission.

The thought stunned her, for while she had become accustomed to relying upon her friends in the years since she had been called, she had also just spent the last six months without any kind of scooby support system, and had become used to relying on, and on _being_ relied upon by no one but Jack. The thought of once more leaving her planet, with none of the scoobies by her side, shouldn't have bothered her - shouldn't have fazed her, and yet already it seemed as though she had gotten used to having her friends back in her life. "Maybe you can go on the next spaceship?" she offered, her smile faltering when Xander finally seemed to shake of his shock, only to have his customary goofiness replaced by a fierce frown.

"You don't understand," he stated, his gaze solemn. "I'm under strict orders from the home front not to let you out of my sight."

"Strict orders?" Buffy parroted, arching a single brow that challenged his heavy statement. "Besides, when did you even have a chance to _contact_ the home front?"

"What, you don't think I had time to phone home sometime during one of the numerous Buffy feed-fests?" Xander returned, the barest hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

"Feed fests?" Buffy scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "Did you not notice the tiniest of portions of the blandest foods known to man? I mean, does Dr. Fraiser really think that after all of the sludge I ate on Netu, that a single freaking candy bar is going to do me in? Or a nice, juicy hamburger for that matter?" she asked as she patted forlornly at her obscenely flat stomach.

It was almost amusing to think that not once during her 15 hour road trip with Xander did she even give food a passing thought. Sure, she had eaten, for Xander had seen to that. A burger here, a bag of chips there - just the usual road trip fare, and despite the fact that she had been craving just those kinds of foods for far too long, she paid such scant attention beyond the mechanical movements of opening her mouth, chewing and then swallowing, that she couldn't even remember what it had felt like to have those sweet tastes on her buds once more. No, at the time she had been far too consumed with thoughts, worries, and fears for Jack - too overwhelmed by the moving car, the scenery flashing past, the cold, and the vast wrongness with so much open space around her.

Now, however, with nothing to do but sit and wait, Dr. Fraiser had taken it upon herself to order a strict feeding regimen for her starved patient. Not only was she being fed, but she was being fed often, and yet with portion sizes so small, and with food so bland, that Buffy found her mouth watering with even the hazy recollection of greasy goodness.

Frowning, she pushed the reminder of her six-month build-up of cotton mouth from her mind and focused her attention back on her friend. "And somehow during this conversation you were given strict orders," she reminded him, picking up where they had left off without even missing a beat.

Nodding gravely, Xander leaned closer. "Dawn said that Willow was using her resolve face," he confided, and with those small words, Buffy felt something wonderful spread from her heart to warm her whole body as she leaned forward and pulled Xander into a tight hug.

"Don't worry, I've got this," she whispered into his ear as she felt him return the hug with such strength, that slayer healing or not, her cracked ribs loudly protested. Yet she barely felt the pain, and Buffy instead reveled in the almost foreign sensation of being held by someone that wasn't Jack, and allowing it to comfort her further before she reluctantly pulled away.

"We'll take good care of her," Daniel offered, surprising them both as they found him standing patiently beside their chairs.

In that moment, Xander lost every single one of his warm, fuzzy lines as he stood from his seat until he was towering over the older man, his brown eyes narrowed in a cold glare. "You better, because you've got a couple of vampires, two witches, a watcher, and a former vengeance demon that plan on holding you to that."

At this obvious threat, Daniel's smile wavered as he looked back and forth from Buffy to Xander before slowly backing away.

Shaking her head, Buffy playfully slapped Xander's arm as she stood beside him - officially breaking his intimidating stance. "Anya?" she asked, her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You threatened him with Anya?"

"Well, you have to admit that 'former vengeance demon' sounds pretty impressive."

"True," Buffy admitted, her eyes crinkling in thought. "Then again, if you really wanted to drive the point home, you should have mentioned that she was the vengeance demon of scorned women, and what she used to do to the men that vengeance was called down upon."

"You don't think that would have been over kill?" Xander returned as he slung an arm over her shoulders.

"Nah. Now if you had mentioned that you had a werewolf on retainer, well, that would have been different."

"Ah, Oz... he came to your funeral, you know."

"Really?" Buffy asked, her eyes sparkling.

"Yep - he even gave one of your many eulogies."

"Jerk," Buffy muttered as she shrugged off his shoulder and began heading towards the door where the others were waiting. "Now I know you're lying."

"Are you kidding?" Xander countered as he hurriedly dogged her steps. "It was really moving - a little long, but moving nonetheless."

**To be continued...**


	17. Chapter 17

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 17  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks again to all of the wonderful reviewers out there! I think I now have a handle on this whole respond to reviews business, and I hope that you all have benefited from that extra bit of communication. Seriously, this thing would not get written if it were not for your support, and for that I'm continuously grateful. Oh - I also managed to create my very own avatar for this whole new fangled live journal craze (at least, new fangled for me). As always, you can check out the associated artwork at my website at www(dot)equinoxium(dot)com. Thanks again, and happy reading!

* * *

The embarkation room was everything that Jack had promised it to be. It was large, it was grey, and it contained a stargate for a centerpiece. For Buffy, the impressive stone gate wasn't anything new. She had seen the one on Apophis' ship, and even seeing it activated - the huge vertical tidal wave funneling out, only to suck right back in until it became a pool of standing water - wasn't anything of the new and wacky. The familiarity was increased by the fact that she now contained centuries worth of nightmare-inducing memories that she had never wanted, and that she did her damnest to keep firmly locked up in a far corner of her mind. None of this was new, and yet Buffy was surprised to feel a whole belly full of butterflies start fluttering the second that she walked through the ridiculously heavy steel door.

Xander was beside her, his mouth agape, and Daniel, Sam, and Teal'c were gathered with General Hammond, Martouf, and his two buddies at the base of the metal ramp that led up a gentle incline to the open wormhole. In the brief twenty minutes since the meeting had adjourned, she had been kitted out with a jacket to match her green pants, a black tac vest with pockets filled to bursting with an assortment of crap that she hadn't taken the time to investigate, and a green baseball cap that she had already stowed into the backpack that weighed more than she did. Maybe even more than two Buffys. She wasn't sure she knew, and was pretty sure she didn't care, but as she had effortlessly lifted it and slung it over one shoulder, even she had to admit that the look on the soldier's face who had given her the bag was certainly amusing.

Oh, and she also had a gun strapped to her thigh - and how weird was _that_? Rocket launchers aside, her only experience with automatic weaponry hadn't really ended in her favor. One could argue that Professor Walsh had a lot to do with that - actually, _everything_ to do with that, but the fact remained that in her line of work, Buffy generally stuck to things that were pointy and, well, medieval. Yet when their next stop had been the armory and everyone else started loading up, Buffy had been quick to demand a weapon. She had been hoping for a P90 like Sam, or a staff weapon like Teal'c, but when the guy running the armory had merely arched an eyebrow at her demand, Sam had made him give in to a compromise and outfitted her with a handgun to match Daniel's. Better than nothing, she supposed, for the idea of going back to Netu unarmed was just crazy.

The one and only thing that she had personally added to her already heavy pack was the extra set of clothes in Jack's size. Daniel had overheard her request to the guy who was in charge of such things (and seriously, how much would that suck to work your way into serving for such a highly classified government project, only to be placed in charge of providing uniforms to everyone else?), and his expression had warmed that much more in response. She, of course, had immediately become defensive and tried to brush it off with a detailed commentary on how badly Jack stunk, and the various reasons why. Xander had then told her to give it up, because the big, fat hickey on her neck, the one that had been revealed the moment she put her hair back in a ponytail, and the one that her slayer healing seemed to be conveniently ignoring, had already let the cat out of the bag.

Buffy hadn't bothered to point out that she could only hope that Jack was the reason behind that little love bite.

"So..." Xander murmured, his voice trailing away as he jammed his hands into his pockets and began rocking on the balls of his feet.

"So," Buffy repeated, pushing down the butterflies long enough to flash her friend what she hoped was a confident grin.

"Taking a wormhole to another planet," he prompted, his whole body twitching with a strange mix of nerves and excitement, and maybe a touch of jealousy.

"Before taking a spaceship to a planet far, far away," Buffy agreed as she absently tugged on one of her backpack straps in a vain attempt to keep it from cutting into her shoulders. "Well, moon, actually."

"Dressed as GI Jane, no less," Xander continued with a cheeky smile.

Sighing, Buffy followed Xander's gaze to her scarily monochromatic outfit. "True, but that's still much better than the Hell Refugee look that I've been sporting for the past six months," she commented with a small shrug, even as she tried to ignore that pesky little voice that pointed out how much she was going to stick out once she got back to Netu. Not because of the clothes, for the denizens came from all walks of life on so many different planets that there wasn't exactly a trend to follow. No, she was going to stick out because she was clean. The kind of clean that didn't even happn with the recently condemned, and that... well, that could end up being a problem. Then again, when the only other option consisted of getting themselves purposely dirty and stinky upon arrival to Netu, well, Buffy couldn't help but think that the sticking out and the not blending would still be worth the not stinking and the not being dirty. Magic didn't exist to the people of this world - the world of goa'ulds and spaceships. Escape wasn't possible - or so came the general consensus on Netu. Let the other denizens wonder. She was pretty sure that whatever explanations they came up with, none of them would venture anywhere near the truth.

"You remember the instructions that Dr. Frasier gave you?" Xander asked, breaking her from her thoughts as he pulled her into a tight hug - one that somehow managed to fit all the way around her, bulging backpack and all.

"You mean the 'Care and Feeding of a Buffy' instructions that she gave to Daniel while I was standing right beside him?" Buffy returned with a wry smile that was hidden amongst the folds of Xander's tee-shirt. "Yeah, I think we're good. They went something along the lines of no more than small, bland MREs given in four hour increments to prevent a Buffy from overloading on MRE grossness."

"Sounds about right," Xander agreed before reluctantly allowing her to pull away. "And you'll be careful, right? I mean, really, really careful? The kind of careful where you come back with all of your Buffy pieces in all of the appropriate Buffy places?"

"Every single one of them," Buffy agreed, her smile growing.

"Because you do realize that last word from good ole Sunnydale had me sticking to your side like superglue," Xander reminded with a fierce frown. "They're not going to be happy to hear that my superglue isn't so super."

"Oh no, your glue is very, very super," Buffy reassured as she gently squeezed her friend's arm. "It's just that today it's more like really, really good, stretchy rubber cement than superglue."

"Like the still gooey kind?" Xander returned.

"You know it," Buffy confirmed before she offered him one more confident smile and turned resolutely away. Daniel was still waiting for her by the general, but Martouf and his buddies had already stepped through to the other side, and Sam and Teal'c were waiting patiently at the top of the ramp. It was time to go - time to step through a wormhole so that she could be broken down into tiny Buffy bits, only to be reassembled on the other side. The thought caused her confident smile to waver as she stepped beside Jack's best friend, her eyes remaining fixated on the gate as Sam and Teal'c stepped through - a small ripple marking their passage until it cleared back into the undulating vertical pool.

"What's wrong? Nervous?" Daniel asked, his eyes sympathetic and his expression warm.

"Well, I am pretty sure that the only time I've ever gone through one of these things I was already dead," Buffy reasoned as she adjusted her pack one more time before falling into step with him, feeling his, Xander's - and well, practically everyone else's eyes on her the whole time. Together they ascended the gentle incline only to pause once more, this time just before the wavering pool of light.

"I'd, uh, recommend exhaling before you walk through," Daniel suggested with an encouraging smile.

Smiling weakly in return, Buffy took one last look at where Xander watched her from below before she scrunched up her face, blew out her breath and stepped through the event horizon.

* * *

Jacob had been right - not that Jack would have ever admitted it to the older man's face. After all, as Jacob liked to point out, he was usually right. Apparently, a person didn't become a general by being in the business of being wrong, and no matter how innocently his friend had smiled when telling him this, Jack couldn't help but think that the comment was in some way a pointed jab to the fact that Jack himself was still a colonel.

Did that, by definition, then mean that Jack was in the business of being wrong?

Evidently more so then a general, as Bynarr was indeed tearing Netu apart in the hunt for his missing Tok'ra prisoner. The fact that Hoftan had been killed wasn't really an issue. What was murder to a murderer? No, that whole issue was overlooked in lieu of the greater transgression - namely that someone had whisked away his Tok'ra prisoner, and more importantly, Sokar's Tok'ra prisoner.

Sokar was not going to be pleased.

That meant, of course, that Bynarr wasn't pleased, and when the warden of your prison wasn't pleased, each and every single prisoner felt that wrath as it worked its way down the chain of command. Search parties made up of Bynarr's guards and a few loyal (i.e. less treacherous than most) prisoners were already in place and scouring the many tunnels and cells that burrowed its way through Netu's molten core. Food and water supply drops had been suspended, and everyone watched everyone else with an even more suspicious eye than normal.

As the call had gone out, Jack had left Jacob sitting in the relative safety of his and Buffy's hideaway to join the other denizens in the massive cavern, one that allowed Bynarr to address his flock with ease. There the overweight, burly warden had issued threat after creatively vicious threat to any that may have helped in the escape, or those who may be housing or hiding the missing Tok'ra agent. His bald head glimmered with sweat, and his one good eye flashed with golden light as his deep voice reverberated throughout the open space. He was colorful in his description of exactly what he would do if any connection was found between a denizen and the escapee, and his promises of rewards, in contrast, came off all the more sweetly to anyone who could come forth with information about their fellow neighbor.

Jack should have been frightened - terrified at the realization of what his brash action may yet cost him. He should have been queasy with nerves at the graphic imagery, perhaps even shaking with uncontrollable fear. He should have worried about his life, and dreaded how closely, and how dreadfully his end would come.

Jack was bored.

Seriously, you hear one tyrant yak it up about how awfully you were going to die, you've heard it all. And Bynarr? Not even that frightening. Thanks to modern American cinema, he was thoroughly indoctrinated into the category of Scary Villains. Now those guys - those guys were creative.

"Where is your master, Slave?"

Brown eyes narrowing at the intended slur, Jack turned from Bynarr's impassioned (boring) speech to find that Buffy's favorite contact, Pishtik, had snaked up to his side sometime during the seemingly endless diatribe. The man, and he used this term loosely, only came up to Jack's shoulder, with wide-set eyes and a flat, reptilian nose. His skin was dark and oily, smooth and hairless in a way that made Jack's skin crawl. He obviously wasn't human, but he was close enough that both Jack and Buffy had agreed that he had to have some human blood in him somewhere.

He had been Buffy's contact - the closest thing to a friend to be found in this hell. He had provided them an 'in' to the underground network that had supplied them with the occasional fresh water, weapons and tools that they had in turn traded for other items that had been essential at the time. Nothing came without a price, but Pishtik had been fairer than most, and a valuable source of information. He had respected Haremakhet by reputation, and later that respect had transferred to Buffy as Haremakhet's host, and grown through each dealing. Unfortunately, to Pishtik, Jack was nothing more than Haremakhet's slave - and according to Buffy, as she had so casually informed him with a lecherous smirk, her concubine.

"I haven't seen Haremakhet for a few days now," Pishtik continued, and Jack didn't need to see his eyes skipping suggestively to where Bynarr continued to ramble for him to understand what the little snake was implying. It was yet another example of how, aside from Buffy, and now Jacob, there was no such thing as friends in Netu. No friends, no comrades, and certainly no loyalty. Pishtik thought that there was a connection to Buffy's conspicuous absence and the missing Tok'ra, a connection that while completely false, still led one uncomfortably close to the truth, and he was going to collect on it if Jack didn't either come up with a damn good reason, or Buffy in the flesh.

Too bad he was out of both.

"Haremakhet is leading the search for Bynarr in another quadrant of Netu."

Startled, Jack turned with Pishtik to find Na'onak, Bynarr's second-in-command and first prime, eavesdropping behind them. Jack had never bothered to cross paths with Na'onak before, and with good reason. The goa'uld was about his height, maybe a touch shorter, and as lean as the rest of the starving population of Netu, yet he carried a staff weapon that he had proven on more than one occasion that he wasn't afraid to use. Even now, as he and Pishtik gaped at the elusive creature, Na'onak powered up his staff weapon, causing the top to burst open in a flare of fiery light.

It was a show of strength, and one that worked as Pishtik hurried away, leaving Jack and Na'onak in their own little bubble of cleared space amidst a sea of hulking denizens. Alone amongst so many, Jack met Na'onak's gaze without fear, and was surprised to find that there was something familiar about the two dark orbs that burned out from the metal mask that hid the first prime's features. A sheet of something closely resembling chain mail covered his face from his nose down, and despite being hidden, Jack would have sworn that Na'onak was smirking at him. Bynarr's first prime then nodded once, slow and casual, before turning and moving through the denizens that parted like the Red Sea before Moses.

The whole encounter had been strange - or maybe strangely ominous - and Jack found his mind spinning as he turned and began moving in the opposite direction. He had to get back to Jacob, Bynarr's tedious threats be damned, and work out what in the hell had just happened, for as it was, he could only come up with two answers:

Either Buffy had disappeared from his arms only to reappear in another part of Netu, just in time to join in the hunt for the missing Tok'ra - and all without contacting him to let him know what in the hell had happened, that she was alright, that she was safe, and to stop his slide into insanity...

... Or Na'onak had just covered for Buffy, knowing full well that she wasn't where he just claimed her to be. That, of course, left the immediate and worrying question of _why_.

* * *

_"You're in trouble, Mister."_

"Uh... hi Willow," Xander returned with a weak smile that his best friend had no way of seeing. "How'd you know it was me?" he asked as his hand tightened on the phone receiver. "You're not doing anything... witchy, are you?" he asked, finishing the thought in a low whisper even as he pasted on a bright grin and threw a jaunty wave to the guy with the gun that was busy standing guard outside the small office that he had been ushered into. Buffy had been gone already for a few hours, but it had taken him this long to convince General Hammond, or more accurately, to convince General Hammond's aide, the one that had been given the thankless job of babysitting him, that he had desperately needed to make a phone call.

"_No, Xander,_" Willow sighed through the connection. "_It's called caller ID._"

"Oh. Right," Xander murmured with a muttered _idiot_ beneath his breath, before a small, puzzled frown pulled at his lips. "But wait. If you didn't know it was me because you were being all Witchy Willow, then how did you know that what I was going to tell you meant that I was going to be in trouble?"

This time the silence was more pained than exasperated, and Xander could picture his best friend's green eyes slipping closed, her head shaking tiredly from side to side, fine wisps of red slapping her cheeks - all in perfect time with the sigh that slipped through lips that were narrowed in a fierce frown. "_I didn't - at least, not until now. What happened? Where's Buffy?_"

"Well you see, that's why I'm calling," Xander began with a dry, nervous chuckle.

"_Xander, hold on a sec_," Willow interrupted before he heard a short, muffled exchange with a deeper, male voice. "_Giles, if the military did something wrong, do you really think they'd be letting him call us to tell us what's wrong?... Giles... Giles, I don't think... Fine_," she breathed, the last said with a burst of exasperated air. "_Xander, Giles wants to know if the military has done something Initiative-ish_."

"Uh, that would be a negative," Xander returned, his hand flexing on the phone receiver as he nervously shuffled from foot to foot.

"_He said no, Giles... Dawn, I'm not going to... That doesn't make any sense. Dawn, do you really think-... **Fine**_," she huffed, before evidently turning back to their conversation. "_Xander, Dawn wants to know if they're making you say that they're not doing anything Initiative-ish_."

"Uh... no?" Xander returned as he looked around the empty office, his nervousness increasing with each second that he didn't get to spill the news that he had failed at his one and only assigned task.

"_No, Dawn, they're not making him say that... Which is exactly what I was trying to say earlier. If they're making him say that everything is not all Initiative-badness, he wasn't about to go off script just because... Well, no, there's no way to... You want me to WHAT?... No, I'm not asking him-... Giles! I really don't think that... **FINE**! Xander_," Willow continued, and this time there was definitely a note of tension in her voice. Tension and something else. "_Xander, Anya wants me to ask you... she wants me to ask you where you were having sex last week when she... well, when she did that thing that you apparently like so well_."

Instantly, Xander felt himself turn red as he quickly turned his back towards the open doorway, and the guard that was no doubt listening to every single word he spoke. Maybe they were even recording this. "Uh... do I really have to... I mean, do you really need to-"

"_Just answer the question, Xander_," Willow sighed.

Closing his eyes, Xander leaned his forehead against the wall and then slowly began knocking it, repeatedly, against the hard surface. "We were on the research table in the Magic Box," he muttered, only to pull the phone quickly away as Willow 'sqeed' in his ear.

"_Oh, gross! Xander, we_ eat _on that table!_" Willow exclaimed, apparently right along with the others as there was a chorus of muffled 'eeews' that echoed through the phone line. Then there was another muffled exchange, this one held away from the phone, before another voice came on the line.

"_Now that we have determined_," Giles began, his voice somehow managing to sound both disturbed and flustered in a way that was purely Giles, "_to the best of our ability, that you are acting of your own free will, perhaps now you can tell us why it has taken you this long to call, and more importantly, where is Buffy_."

"Yeah, that," Xander agreed, somehow betting that Giles was busily cleaning his glasses while the phone was tucked between his chin and shoulder. "Well, you see, you remember that team that she had mentioned?"

"_SG-something-or-other-_"

"Yeah, that one. Well, Buffy kind of went with them to go and rescue her friend, Jack."

"_She went WHERE? How? And why on earth did you let her go without you?_"

"Hey, not with the having of many choices over here. I think I was lucky that they even let me in the building, let alone letting me watch her go through their wormhole thingy," Xander explained in his defense.

"_She went through WHAT?_"

"Yeah, it looked pretty cool, too," Xander agreed as he made a conscious effort to not picture the way that Giles' face had to be looking the color of a ripe tomato about now. "Kind of like a big, stone toilet bowl that flushed out instead of down - only without the actual toilet bowl. But the wormhole only took them to another planet where a spaceship was waiting to take them back to that Nato-place.

"_Good lord._"

"Oh, and would you believe that I got to meet a couple of aliens, too?" Xander continued with a bright smile. "To be honest, it was kind of anticlimactic. They look just like us - well, except for Teal'c. He looks more like Mr T. Only without hair. Or all of the gold chains. And what was with all of the bling, anyway? Hey, do you think that he was like the _founder_ of bling? I bet-"

"_Hi Xander, it's Tara_," Tara's quiet voice cut in, interrupting the roll that he had been riding. "_Giles is slightly... upset right now_," she continued apologetically, to the accompaniment of much muttering, curses, and the sound of Dawn's muffled sobs. "_Are we to understand that Buffy... well, that she's no longer... that she's_-"

"Oh yeah, Buffy has definitely left the building," Xander offered, taking pity on Tara and sparing her from trying to get the words out. Yes, they lived weird lives, but seriously - this was stretching it, even for them. "Heck, she's probably out of the solar system by now," he continued with a small, pained shake of his head. "There was no convincing her not to go, she and this Jack guy apparently got really, really close while they were gone," he explained, thinking of the hickey that just wouldn't go away. "And there was no way that they were going to let me go with."

A soft sigh was his only response before he heard Tara mutter something to someone else. "_Okay, Willow said that we'll... well, I guess we'll just hang tight until we hear back from you. Unless... do you think it would help if we came to you?_"

"No," Xander quickly returned, the very thought causing his head to start aching. "You wouldn't be able to do anything besides wait here, either, and I don't think that they'd let you in. You should probably just..." And what could he possibly use to finish that sentence? Go back to work? To school? Continue on with your lives until they received word that Buffy, their friend, sister, daughter, slayer, hero, their _everything_ was done cavorting out in the galaxy and was ready to finally come home after her half a year of being dead, tortured, prisoner, _gone_???

"I'll call when I hear something," he finished with a small, soft sigh. "And tell Anya that I love her," he added before replacing the phone to its cradle.

Yeah, waiting sucked.

* * *

Her bed was a hard platform that stretched from one end of the room to the other, no doubt hiding either cargo or equipment or maybe even a wookie or two, and her pillow was her puffy green jacket, all bunched and fluffed to just the right angle. She had slept for a time, her mind finally caving to her body's demands, but that had been hours ago, and now Buffy found herself growing restless as she stared up at the dull golden ceiling - so familiar and so alien at the same time.

The trip through the wormhole had been disorienting, dizzying, and it had taken a tremendous amount of will power to prevent herself from losing her most recent meal of bland foods all over the scuffed dirt that made up a vast majority of Vorash. Her reaction was apparently quite typical, as Daniel had been by her side in seconds, a strong hand gripping either arm, steadying her against him while staying clear of anything she might have wanted to offer back to the gods. This time she had been feeling too unsteady to try and shy away from his gentle hold, but he must have understood her aversion to touch by now, for he waited only long enough for her limbs to stop shaking before he gently released her and stepped around her to offer a tentative smile.

Yet whatever thanks Buffy had been about to offer became frozen as she really took in her surroundings. One foot had stepped off of a metal ramp in a base hidden far beneath the earth's surface in wintry Colorado, and the other had found its footing on a world that was covered in dirt and sparse vegetation. The sky was blue - not the blue of summer in California, but the blue of the mountains found far, far away from the drifting smog of Los Angeles. The air was cool and sweet, and the sun... no, the suns, for there were two of them, were the wrong color and size to be the one that she had lived with all her life.

She was on an alien planet - a real-life alien planet - and though she had spent the past six months trading one hell for another, going from a spaceship to a moon, both had been so vastly different from her own world that she had accepted the differences with the grace of one who had grown accustomed to weird. She had spent the past six years seeing weird and the truly bizarre on a nightly basis, that the spaceship wasn't anything to blink at, and the truly alien environment of Netu was just like stepping foot into a hell dimension - something that she had already had the misfortune of doing. Yet this... Vorash was so similar to Earth, so achingly and strangely familiar, and yet different in just enough ways that it brought home the reality of her situation like nothing else.

Okay, so maybe being invaded by a goa'uld symbiote had also brought with it a certain sense of the strange and alien, but once more - hello, demonic presence anyone? Demonic presences she was born, bred, and trained to deal with. But this?

At that moment, Buffy hadn't been too proud to admit, at least to herself, that she was feeling a little out of her element. Then there was the big, honking spaceship that was parked next to a nearby dune to really drive home the point. But if she had been expecting the rush of stepping through the gate to carry over through the quick hop to Netu, well, she would have been disappointed - and for the record, she was.

Disappointed, that is.

Very, very disappointed.

It turned out that the relatively small spacecraft, a teltak, was the very same ship in which Jolinar, the Tok'ra symbiote that Sam had hosted for a short time, was found adrift after her escape from Netu. It had been severely damaged, and though Martouf assured them that the essential flight mechanisms had been repaired, the hyperdrive engines were only able to run at forty percent without too much risk.

Translation?

Their ride to Netu was a really, really slow and loooooooong ride. As Daniel had tried to explain it to her, it was like they were taking a camel instead of a stallion. As Buffy had then explained back, it was more like they were trying to take one of those motorized bicycles instead of the neighbor's Ferrari.

Yeah, Daniel really needed to work on his similes.

After some quick exploration - for really, there wasn't a whole lot to see - Buffy had discovered two main sections to the ship. Up front there was a pilot and a co-pilot's chair situated before a panel and a view screen, just like on any airplane, only the buttons were fewer and looked less complicated, and the space was much more open. The air had that same metallic taste to it that she had come to recognize from her time aboard Apophis' ship, and everything had that dull golden sheen that seemed to make up Goa'uld technology - indiscriminate metal paneling in every direction that you looked, and four very familiar looking pods lining the back wall, with an open doorway leading into another room meshed in between. That room was larger in comparison, and open with only the occasional crate and platform, like the one she was using as her bed, to fill the space. Cargo room, obviously. As for the bathrooms... yeah, her bladder was beginning to remind her that finding one of those in the near future would be a good idea. Lunch hadn't been all that long ago and Xander had forced a _lot_ of water on her.

The teltak had been familiar to Sam, thanks to her vague memories from Jolinar, and to Buffy as well - though she had kept that realization to herself. The only difference was that Sam was more than willing to explore those hazy thoughts of a life that wasn't her own, while Buffy purposely blocked anything at all that didn't belong to her and her alone. She had enough creepy flashbacks and horrors from her own life that adding to her repertoire just seemed like overkill.

But once more, that had been hours ago. Teal'c had taken over the wheel, so to speak, and it had been decided that he would stay behind while the rest of them headed down to the surface in the four descent pods. The decision made sense, though probably not for the reasons that had Sam agreeing with Martouf. The major trusted the Tok'ra implicitly, but for Buffy... well, she just didn't know the guy. He seemed nice enough, and once upon a time, the fact that everyone else trusted him probably would have been enough, but that was prior to spending the past six months in hell. Now she just needed a bit more to go on.

Everything that Jack had told her about the Tok'ra had indicated that they were more intel gatherers than soldiers, and when it came to Netu, Buffy silently admitted that she would much rather have had another soldier at her back then the Tok'ra that was slated to accompany them. Especially when that soldier was as solid as Teal'c. She knew him, if even only a little bit, but more importantly, Jack knew Teal'c and trusted him. And yet after some quiet deliberation, that was the same reason that Buffy had stayed quiet when the decision of who would go and who would stay had been decided. She trusted Teal'c, and she needed someone she trusted to remain on the spaceship and ensure that he would be there to pick them up when they were ready to leave.

As for Martouf, it was a small consolation to see that the handsome Tok'ra seemed to be at as much of a loss with her as she was with him. To his credit, he had used a healing thingie (Goa'uld Healing Device - stupid Ass-Hat memories) to fix her bum ribs and her broken wrist, which meant yay, no cast. Sure, they would have healed on their own soon enough - and true to word, probably before they even reached Netu. Still, it was a nice thing to do, and yet it was still plenty obvious that the guy still didn't know what to make of her. He didn't know her, and though everyone had told him that she was from Earth, a Tau'ri, she triggered the goa'uld version of his spidey sense, knew things that she had no right knowing, and was as unapologetic and rude as... well, as she imagined that Jack had been. To be honest, the thought just made her want to smile. It felt good to channel her inner-Jack. It somehow made his absence that much more bearable.

Still, for being as old as he probably was - which, for the record, was much, much older than the thirty-odd years that he looked - Martouf still seemed to be a bit naive as to the workings of the world. The kicker was when he had been laying out their planned arrival.

_"The only way to reach the surface is through the rings, which would prematurely reveal our exit strategy," Martouf explained in his slow, measured tones, "or in the descent pods, which is how all the damned are sent to sent to Netu by Sokar, and how we must also arrive if we are to convince the denizens we can be trusted," he continued - only to be interrupted by Buffy's derisive snort._

_"No denizens can be trusted," she had pointed out, only to subsist at Sam's quelling look._

And that had been the next surprise. This Sam - the captain that had been promoted to major in Jack's absence - wasn't quite the woman that Buffy remembered, nor the woman that Jack had painted in the stories he had told. Buffy hadn't been the first to receive Sam's mothering attention, for several times already the older woman would clear her throat and look pointedly at Daniel, causing him to lower his hands from whatever he had been touching with an expression that somehow managed to be guilty and contrite all at the same time. The clearing of the throat, and more importantly, what the clearing of the throat stood for - namely the reeling in of one errant archaeologist - was what Buffy recognized as something that Jack would have done. What he _had_ done on more than one occasion since the team had been formed. But Jack wasn't here, and the more that Buffy thought about it, the more it seemed as though in the time that Jack had been gone, Sam had been forced to step up and do her best to fill the colonel's shoes. She had taken over the mothering that kept Daniel out of harm's way. She now shared the quiet looks with Teal'c that managed to say a lot without ever speaking a word. And yet Sam looked worn - strained - and Buffy began to see how difficult it had been for her to step up and fill that role. She couldn't always keep a handle on Daniel, and despite her best efforts, Buffy could tell that she couldn't always read Teal'c's quiet looks. Jack's shoes were too big for her to fill, especially when she still had to balance in her customary role. Everything felt off-kilter and off-balance - and it was a feeling with which Buffy could well relate.

After her mom's death, and before her own, Buffy, too, had been forced into a role that wasn't her own. She had tried to play mother in addition to sister, and found the job not just trying, but impossibly difficult. Joyce hadn't been perfect - no one was - but she had been scarily close to that. She had been a wonderful mother to her and Dawn, and without her, the world had seemed that much harder, that much colder. She and Dawn had suffered a tremendous loss with her death, and though some part of her had argued that it was unfair that she was being forced to play mother to her sister, that Buffy herself was too young yet, and that _she_ still needed her mother, another part of her had realized that at this point in their lives, Dawn truly needed a mother more. And so Buffy had done her terrible best - and had wished for her mother's return each and every day that she shouldered a burden that was slowly breaking her with its weight - until she _had_ broke. And in doing so, she had freely accepted her own death.

How strange to actually be thankful that someone, maybe Fate, had stepped in and prevented that very thing from happening - at least for long. She had been beaten down, crushed by her many heavy responsibilities, but her time in hell, her time with _Jack_, had shown her how much she still had left to fight for. He had helped her to regain her equilibrium, first with his humor, his sarcasm, and his unending optimism, and later with his soft touches and his warm smiles.

He had saved her from her greatest foe.

He had saved her from herself.

And for that, if nothing else, Buffy would march back into the depths of Hell and bring him home.

**To be continued...**


	18. Chapter 18

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 18  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** Thank you again to you, my wonderful reviewers! Your nudges (and swift kicks) are obviously the encouragement I need to post as quickly as I am able - and no, once more, this story has not been, and will not be abandoned. I have no excuse aside from the sun, the beautiful beaches, and all of the fun outdoor activities that summer brings. But don't worry - I will try my best to keep my writing in the forefront of my priorities. Look - even today I'm ignoring the siren call of this beautiful day!... though not for long. Time to go play!

And remember - HAPPY READING!

* * *

"Tell me about Jolinar."

Buffy silently twisted on the hard platform, her eyes drifting to where Sam and Martouf were sitting side by side against the far wall. The major's words had been a quiet whisper to her companion, and were it not for her slayer hearing, the soft request wouldn't have even registered above the hum of the teltak's engines. As it was, Daniel's head never lifted from the book he was reading, and Teal'c never turned from where she could see him through the open doorway into the front of the craft.

Though she had been resting for a long time, actual sleep had been elusive. Her thoughts had wandered from one subject to the next as SG-1 alternated between sleeping, talking quietly, and moving restlessly about the small ship. No one had yet to disturb her, and Buffy was grateful for the solitude that was offered - for the respite that had been given. Her world as she had come to know it had been tossed upside down over the last day or so, and the breathing room was a gift that she wasn't beyond accepting.

"The last night we spent together before she was captured by Sokar, we walked along the ridge of Noctana," Martouf replied in a whisper equal to Sam's own, his answer coming after a long, weighted pause.

The major had settled against the wall quite awhile back, and after much hedging and pacing, Martouf had joined her not long after. Since then the two had sat in companionable silence, their bodies touching along their shoulders and hips, and yet their eyes never once meeting. Buffy had been secretly watching them, the obvious attraction and chemistry between the two a welcome diversion from her own troubled thoughts - and yet it wasn't just attraction and chemistry that linked them, but also a heavy sadness that at once attracted and repelled them from one another, and which caused the Tok'ra's shoulders to seem weighted.

"There were two moons out that night," Martouf continued. "We didn't speak of Jolinar leaving. We both knew it was dangerous, but she had to go. We stayed up all night together," he murmured as his eyes, filled with so much sadness, drifted to the ceiling.

"Martouf," Sam murmured, his name a soft sigh of condolence as her hand came to rest gently on his arm. Slowly, Martouf turned until their eyes finally met, and Buffy found herself looking away from the heat that sparked between the two. There was so much yearning, so much passion, and yet so much history - one that wasn't even their own - in those gazes that Buffy sharply felt her intrusion into a moment that belonged to the two of them, and the two of them alone.

Too bad she couldn't just turn off her slayer hearing.

"I should have said this earlier," Martouf's voice whispered, carrying to Buffy despite her best effort to tune them out - to give them the privacy that they deserved. "I know my relationship with Jolinar is a source of discomfort for you."

"No, not discomfort," Sam corrected, her voice faltering.

"And for that I do not blame you," he continued. "But you must understand that my feelings for you are not because you were host for Jolinar, but because of you alone. Lantash feels the same way, for really it is quite impossible for one of us to feel what the other does not."

It was at that moment that Buffy physically turned away from the conversation and the stark reminder that Martouf carried a goa'uld symbiote that was twined around his vertebrae. Or was that a Tok'ra symbiote? To be honest, Buffy wasn't sure she understood the difference. All she knew was that it was creepy to hear him reference his symbiote's feelings after she had spent the last however many hours trying to forget the fact that he was a host to one of the things that she still had nightmares about.

His _host_.

Even after witnessing the phenomenon, Buffy still found it hard to imagine that someone wanted to willingly share their body with one of the creatures that had been so hell bent on dominating her. The goa'uld symbiotes had felt so vastly alien, so wrong, and so _evil_ that Jack had a difficult time selling the idea of symbiotes that apparently weren't of the evil. Then again, seeing as how Jack obviously had difficulties buying what he was selling... well, it was no wonder that she had been left feeling extremely skeptical. She knew first hand that an implantation of a goa'uld symbiote was never a good time - and this knowledge came from many, _many_ instances where she had to endure the agonizing pain, the revulsion, and then the horror as something invaded not only her body, but forced its will upon her mind. It was rape of the most demoralizing kind, and she had been brutalized again, and again, and again. Then, as if her experiences of the last six months hadn't been bad enough, another goa'uld had thought to round it off by taking away even her most basic physical safety and freedom. Janus couldn't overcome her mentally, and so he had tried to dominate her through one of the most abhorrent, base acts that probably dated back further than any written language. And he would have succeeded, too, had it not been for that meddling goa'uld.

"Buffy?"

Startled by a hand on her arm that was just a little too small and a little too wide to be Jack's, Buffy instinctively twisted out of reach, only to come up against a wall and... nope, just a wall, but daunting and unmovable, all the same. Eyes lifting, Buffy came back to herself in a rush of expelled air as she offered Daniel a weak smile. The archaeologist's book was sitting on the floor beside him, a scrap of paper marking his place, and his warmth was tempered by a sadness that she chose to ignore.

"Your stomach was growling. You should probably eat something," he prodded with a nod toward her backpack.

Frowning, Buffy realized that Daniel was right, and after a quick glance to see that Sam and Martouf were still immersed in their quiet conversation, she slid off of her makeshift bed and settled on the floor beside the older man. With a sigh of resignation, she pulled her pack before her and began sorting through her choice of MREs with the air of one who was doomed to eat something truly gross. "Instant oatmeal with cinnamon, instant oatmeal with raisons, instant oatmeal with honey... what, no instant oatmeal with brownie surprise?" she asked as she finally settled on an instant oatmeal option with apple flavoring - and seriously, who came up with this stuff?

"I think I still have a cookie left from my ravioli MRE," Daniel offered as he pulled over a tray of dinner leftovers that only vaguely resembled raviolis. Catching her leery expression, he nodded in commiseration. "You should probably be grateful that you were given a stockpile of instant oatmeal. It's very hard for them to mess that one up," he explained as he proffered the promised cookie.

Smiling weakly in return, Buffy accepted the desert - oatmeal raison, of all the ironies - with a nod of thanks. For a moment, a comfortable silence fell between them as Daniel returned to his reading and as Buffy munched on her cookie and tried to avoid looking at Sam and Martouf. After a while, Daniel seemed to notice her aversion to the couple's corner of the room, and he smiled knowingly at her.

"You can hear them," he guessed, and Buffy turned to him with a quick explosion of breath and a fervent nod.

"I'm really, really trying hard not to," she admitted. "Right now they're comparing their love lives, and while Jack shared with me a lot of stories about you guys and your adventures, that never included her past experiences with men. She's telling him now about some guy she was engaged to-"

"Jonas Hansen," Daniel supplied with a pained nod. "Yeah, that one didn't end very well."

"So I'm gathering," Buffy agreed. Eyes pressing closed, she lifted small hands and rubbed at her temples in quick, hurried movements. Her skin was cool - cooler than it had been in months - and it felt dry and unburdened by layers of sweat and dirt. With conscious effort, she focused on the feel of her skin beneath her fingers, the cool of the circulated air that brushed against her cheeks and hands, and the steady beat of Daniel's heart from just a few inches to her right. A heart that was slowly starting to pick up speed, the steady thud-thump striving to match the rasp of pages turning back and forth, thick, calloused fingers scraping along the edges as they toyed with the thick paper. It was a complete immersion in her senses, limited to the area just surrounding her figure, and a technique, a meditation, that Giles had taught her many a year ago - and it was also helping to turn her attention away from a conversation that she had no right overhearing.

"Jack spoke about us."

The words were spoken as a statement, and yet there was enough tentative questioning and quiet yearning that Buffy opened her eyes and turned to find that Daniel was indeed toying with the pages of his book, his eyes locked on something that wasn't in the same room as the rest of them. "All the time," Buffy agreed with quiet assurance and a little bit of compassion to his quiet hurts. They were the hurts that were borne from grief and the kind of missing that a person does when someone they love is so far out of reach.

She had felt that same kind of missing when her father had gone away, and later when Angel had left for LA, when Riley had gone, and now, to a different degree with Jack. The thought caused a small, wry smile to lift her lips as she realized that out of all of the men in her life, Jack was different. He hadn't left her - not really. No, she had left _him_, and she was going to do what none of the others had the strength to do.

She was going back to him.

"We talked about a lot of things," Buffy continued as she looked away, giving him that small bit of privacy to deal with his quiet hurt. "What we missed, and those that would miss us. We talked about what we would eat when we finally got home, and what we would do. But the funny thing was, even when we were talking about food and movies and places... the people that we had left behind were always right there. Jack was always talking about when his team would take me to O'Malley's so that I could try the best steak known to mankind, or sitting me down with you guys to watch Star Wars, because it's Teal'c's favorite movie."

"And his cabin," Daniel supplied with a small, knowing smile. "I bet he wanted to take you to his cabin to go fishing."

"In the lake with no fish," Buffy agreed with a friendly nudge. "Yeah, he said that you were always particularly fond of doing that."

"I've missed him," Daniel sighed, and as Buffy glanced over to where Martouf's arm was now settled comfortably over Sam's shoulders, she couldn't help but agree wholeheartedly with that statement.

* * *

It was amazing how quickly bad could spiral into worse when it came to life in hell. Bynarr's impassioned (demented) speech had roused the denizens in a way that Jack hadn't seen since the riot that occurred earlier in his imprisonment. There was activity _everywhere_, and worse, that meant that there were _eyes_ everywhere. Everyone watched everyone else, and violence simmered beneath every heated glare and muttered word. Walking the twisting caverns of Netu meant a constant flux between looking mean enough that the weak wouldn't bother you, and harmless enough that the strong didn't wipe the arrogance from your face. Truly, if it had been safe before, it certainly wasn't now, and if Jack was smart, he would have remained holed up with Jacob in his and Buffy's little hidden cavern. Problem was, Jack _was_ smart - smart enough to see through the illusion of safety that their hideaway carried.

With everyone searching everywhere, it was only a matter of time before their home was discovered, and Jacob along with it. Time was running out, quicker than Jack could account for, and that meant that his hand had finally been pushed in a direction that he and Buffy had been avoiding for however long they had been trapped here. After all, as Buffy had confided in him from the very beginning, there _was_ a way off of Netu that didn't necessarily end in death - death was just a _most likely_ result.

Bynarr had a secret set of rings in his chambers that could transport Jack and Jacob into the heart of Sokar's fortress on the planet that their prison-moon orbited. Sure, there was every chance that the room in which they arrived would be filled with guards and he and Jacob would be killed within seconds, but there was also a chance that the room would be empty, and that he and Jacob would be able to find their way to a set of rings, or a ship, and that they could then escape this hellish existence for good.

Yeah, he never said that it was a _good_ chance, but the (really big) chance of imminent death via the rings was still better than the certainty of death that staying on Netu would bring.

Jacob hadn't liked the plan, but he also couldn't come up with anything better. He had been sullen and frustrated when Jack had left him, alone, battered, and sulking upon the pile of rags that Jack and Buffy had called their bed. The older man wanted to help, _needed_ to help, and Jack could well understand that need. When someone made you a victim, the only way to crawl back out of the dark place you had been thrust was to take the power back. To _act_. Unfortunately, it wasn't Jacob's time to act just yet, for while they now had a plan, it was the details of the plan that were still a little bit vague.

Okay, so they were really, really vague. They had a goal in mind: get to the rings in Bynarr's quarters and from there (hopefully) not die and make their daring escape. The big, looming problem, however, was that Jack had no idea where Bynarr's quarters were located. When one was trying to lay low and stay unnoticed in hell, one didn't exactly make a point of strolling past the warden's house.

And so Jack was off, roaming the tunnels of Netu and varying between looking big and threatening and small and meek, all while trying to figure out where he would live if he were the goa'uld in charge.

"_Tau'ri!_"

The word had been hissed in a tone that was used to being obeyed, and yet it was a name that Jack hadn't been called in a long, long time, and that, more than the tone used to convey it, was what caused him to spin towards yet another darkened tunnel that branched from the one that he had been exploring. From the dim, hell-red light of an open vein of magma, Jack could barely make out the shadowed figure of a tall, slender man - one that carried a staff weapon.

"Na'onak," Jack warily returned as he slowly shuffled forward and joined the other in the cramped tunnel. His mind, already occupied with the questions surrounding Buffy's absence in combination with his and Jacob's escape plan, barely had the computing power left to figure out this new mystery - to connect puzzle pieces that just didn't seem to want to fit together. And yet he found that he didn't want to turn away from the cold, assessing eyes of Bynarr's first prime.

"What has happened to Buffy Summers?" the goa'uld demanded, the familiar dual tones of his voice once more causing the fine hairs on Jack's dry, parched skin to raise to attention. "Her wounds did not appear to be fatal, and yet Pishtik is right. She has not been seen in many days and the denizens are talking."

While Jack's mind clamored over the casual use of Buffy's name as opposed to that of the goa'uld that she was impersonating, it was Jack's heart that took control as he finished the distance between them until he was standing nose to nose with a snake that could kill him without a second thought. He held his shoulders straight, and his muscles quivered with remembered anger. The goa'uld didn't back away, but met Jack's narrowed gaze, and the colonel's eyes traced over the featureless mask that hid whatever gross deformities no doubt marred the face beneath. Only Na'onak's impassioned brown eyes were visible, and they flashed with golden light in a show of the goa'uld's impatience. But Jack could care less, for with Na'onak's question came a flood of recent memories that Jack had been trying his damnest to ignore:

_Buffy, calling to him in a voice that was so quiet, frightened, and so unlike the proud, brave, and confident young woman he had come to know, respect, and possibly even love. The shattered look in her wide, haunted hazel eyes that were filled with tears that slowly brimmed before overflowing to trail wet, salty marks down her dirty cheeks. The urgent need that was betrayed by her every stilted movement as he gathered her against him, pressed hot, searing kisses against her lips, throat, neckline..._

No, her injuries hadn't been life-threatening in the physical sense, but mentally? That was something different, and something that the goa'uld standing before him would never understand. "Injuries?" he asked, when everything else seemed suddenly so unimportant.

Yet his response was apparently not what Na'onak had been expecting, as the goa'uld's eyes narrowed in thought. "Surely you know about the attack that Janus launched upon her?" he asked, even as Jack filed away the name of the creature that had dared touch Buffy. She had said that her attackers were dead, but Jack was half tempted to find them just so he could kill them again - slowly.

Na'onak must have read some of this in Jack's dark expression, for he saw something shift in the goa'uld's eyes - something like delight causing them to widen before narrowing once more. "Janus had a dark history with Haremakhet and would have used her, brutally, and then allowed his companions to do the same," the goa'uld continued with a negligent wave. "He would have killed her only after he had destroyed her - had I not stepped in and killed them all, of course."

Jack was distracted by both thoughts of vengeance and the familiarity that grew with each passing moment, and yet not even that was enough to stop him from arching his brows in disbelief at the first prime's bold claim. "You're trying to tell me that _you_ saved Buffy?" he asked, and once more he had the feeling that he had given the wrong answer as Na'onak's eyes scoured his face.

"She did not speak thus?" he demanded, and his frown deepened. "You were surprised to see me," he continued in the manner of a person that was trying to work out a difficult puzzle. And then it was as though the metaphorical light bulb went off, and his eyes widened in a way that would have been comical if his next words hadn't caused Jack's thoughts to stutter to a helpless halt. "She did not reveal my identity to you."

It was a statement, not a question, and yet Jack still found himself floundering back a couple of steps as the familiarity he had been feeling finally clicked into the stuttered name of his nemesis. "Apophis?" he half-questioned, half-groaned as he instinctively looked for a weapon - _any_ weapon. But then the rest of his brain kicked in gear and instead he found himself staring suspiciously at the goa'uld that just refused to die. "Why would _you_ help Buffy?" he demanded as he easily fell back into the insolent tones that the goa'uld had always hated.

"Do you really think I would want to stay in Netu any more than you?" Apophis snarled, his body quivering with suppressed rage that only caused Jack's mood to lighten further. "I command vast armies and am god to many worlds! I have servants. I serve _no one!_"

Apophis was really getting into full swing, and Jack did something right then that felt good, right, and so vastly normal. He laughed. He laughed right in Apophis' face, and the way that the goa'uld's eyes flashed with golden light just made him laugh harder. Even when Apophis' hand shifted, tightened, and shifted again on his staff weapon, Jack laughed, for not only did it feel really, really good, it also served the dual purpose of pissing Apophis off even more.

It took a few minutes, but in that time Jack was neither shot by a staff weapon or walloped upside the head, and as a result, he realized something else. Apophis needed him. "What, you think we have an escape plan?" he finally asked when his chuckles died to a minimum snort between breaths.

"I was uncertain before," Apophis growled with as much dignity as possible, "but now I know for certain. If you did not, then why would you have rescued the Tok'ra?" he demanded in a lofty tone. "Not even _you_ could be that monumentally stupid," he finished with enough disdain that caused Jack's chortles stop cold with a wheezing hiccup.

He was suddenly very grateful for the dark shadows that hid his flush, because yeah, apparently he _was_ that monumentally stupid. Then again, he had been called worse, and hopefully he'd have time to do more monumentally stupid things when they got off of this hell-moon. "And why would we let you in on our escape plan?" Jack asked as he crossed his arms across his chest, one eyebrow arched in a way that would have done Teal'c proud. "Don't tell me you actually buy into that whole 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' bullshit enough that you think it would overcome the fact that we're mortal enemies? And that I hate you? A lot?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well... it doesn't."

Jack got a snort in response. A snort. Since when did goa'uld's snort? And how did they make the snort sound so damn condescending?

"Besides," Jack continued as he twisted his lips in a manner that he hoped conveyed severe derision, "Buffy and I didn't exactly get around to all of that before she disappeared."

At first, he wasn't certain if it was the derision or the words that caused Apophis' eyes to narrow even further, but as the goa'uld took a halting step forward, Jack had his answer. "Disappear? Of what do you speak, Tau'ri?" he demanded, and with a sigh Jack realized that they were back to the Snide Goa'uld that he had always hated.

"Yes, disappeared," Jack agreed, and this time he felt nothing but tired. Very, very tired. "She disappeared days ago, as in out of thin air," he explained with a heavy wave. Suddenly he wanted nothing but to get back to his and Buffy's little hideaway and curl into a small ball and just wait for the end to come. Buffy was still gone, she was-

"Such a thing is not possible. There is no technology capable of such a thing," Apophis argued as Jack turned his back on the goa'uld that had made the last few years of his life a living hell.

"Who ever said anything about technology?" he sighed. "Who knows? Maybe it was magic," he muttered, only to freeze as his own words hit him like a punch to the gut. Magic. Buffy was gone, had just disappeared right out of his arms, and Apophis was right - as to their knowledge, there was no technology that could just make her _vanish_ as though she had never been there, living, breathing, and hurting just second before. There was no reasonable explanation for what had happened... which meant that the previously unreasonable suddenly began to make sense. Buffy was fervent in her belief of magic, and while Jack had always been skeptical before...

All along Buffy had voiced the hope that if her friends only realized that she wasn't really dead, they would find a way to get them back. If she had been right, if they had somehow found a way to save her, then that meant that... then that meant that he may yet have a better option for escape than the likely suicide he had been seriously considering.

* * *

"We have arrived at the coordinates."

Teal'c's announcement was as unexpected as it was eagerly anticipated. The journey from Vorash to Netu seemed to have taken forever, and though Buffy thought she would have become accustomed to forever during her imprisonment in hell, the need to rescue Jack was too great and her patience had been nonexistent. But now they were here, and as Buffy joined the others in the small cockpit, she couldn't decide if it was anticipation or horror that caused her stomach to clench painfully around the small bit of instant oatmeal that she had managed to choke down.

They were in orbit above Netu, and Buffy found it impossible to tear her eyes away from the barren red wasteland that was spread so far beneath the viewscreen. This place had been her home, her prison, for a very long time, and though she really, _really_ didn't want to go back there, Jack was down there; alone, hurting, and probably going crazy wondering what had happened to her. In the end, that meant there really was no choice at all.

"Sokar would not send someone down to Netu with weapons."

Pulled from her thoughts, Buffy turned to find Daniel and Sam checking their weapons and ammo, while Martouf stared at both with a look of warning, his lips pulled thin in a disapproving line.

"If the weapons are discovered on you," the Tok'ra continued, "the Denizens will know that we were not sent by Sokar. "We must attempt to blend in the hope that we will be able to move about freely as Denizens."

Buffy couldn't help it. She laughed.

While the Tok'ra had a point, he was also speaking as though he was an expert on all things Netu. It was an arrogant assumption, especially when Buffy knew from first-hand experience that no one blended in on Netu. How could you when it was a prison-moon that housed aliens from all walks of life? Everyone looked different and there was no status quo except for the dirty, sweaty, and grimy conditions that everyone had been forced to live under. Even Bynarr, Lord of Netu, wasn't a pretty sight. But Martouf was right - the only weapons on Netu were the weapons that the denizens themselves had crafted. Still, that didn't change one thing.

"If you think I'm going back there unarmed, then you're even more of an idiot than Jack said you were," Buffy stated with a fierce frown as she crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. Daniel immediately turned a snicker into a cough, and she could feel Sam's reprimanding look, but Buffy didn't care. There was no way in hell she was going back there without a weapon.

Buffy slipped out of her bulky green jacket. The teltak had been kept relatively cool, but she easily remembered the scorching heat of Netu. The jacket would have been overkill. Heck, even the tough cotton of her military-issued green pants were going to be a change from the loose, flowing fabric of her Ass-Hat costume. With a small shrug she pulled her handgun from her thigh-holster, pausing for a moment to stare blankly at the unfamiliar weapon, before she quickly pulled back the slide, popped out her cartridge of ammunition, pushed it back into place and then moved to slide it against the small of her back. Sam stopped her with a hand on her arm, and Buffy turned to the taller woman to find an ankle holster being offered with a thin smile.

"How about a compromise?" she asked as she indicated to where Daniel was already securing his weapon against his own leg, hidden beneath his loose pants. Like Buffy, he had already shucked his jacket and was busy checking over the small pack that they had agreed on carrying. It held only the essentials, like a small amount of food, ample water, and a goa'uld healing device that Martouf had been kind enough to supply.

"I can do compromises," Buffy agreed as she accepted the holster and set to work trying to figure out which strap went where.

"How do we communicate with Teal'c?" Sam asked as she turned back to where the Jaffa was watching with calm eyes.

"We believe that this device will be able to penetrate the atmosphere," Martouf explained as Sam accepted the small, round communicator.

"We believe?" Daniel countered as he finished his inspection. He was about to lift the pack to his shoulders when Buffy scooped it up with ease.

"You should be able to speak to Teal'c as long as the ship remains in orbit of the moon," Martouf explained as Daniel moved forward to look out of the viewscreen and at the moon so very far below.

"That's err... that's still a long way down," he pointed out as Martouf readied the pods for launch.

"The pods are launched at a great velocity," the Tok'ra explained with a negligent shrug as a final button push had each of the pods opening with a hiss of escaped air.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Daniel weakly returned.

"They are equipped with heat dampening shields and anti-gravity wave generators that will slow our descent-"

"Hey," Buffy broke in as she picked her pod and stepped inside as though her insides weren't quaking. "If it makes you feel any better, we didn't die the first time," she offered as she settled back, the pack pressed against her feet.

"No, that doesn't make me feel any better, either," she heard Daniel refute before the door closed with a quiet hiss. It was like being enclosed in a metal coffin, with cool, rounded panels clutching you close and darkness pressing against you from all sides. Luckily, Buffy had never before had the displeasure of being buried alive, so while the pod was anything but comfortable, it was also doable. It should have helped to know that she had experienced this before, but Buffy had worked hard to repress any memories of when Ass-Hat had been in control, and especially of his memories of Before. Thus, it didn't help - not really. And after the dark and the silence there came the movement, the heat, the noise, and the all-consuming panic as sudden weightlessness was replaced by the weight of a familiar gravity.

Then, of course, came the landing. And that... well, she did remember that part, if only from the burst of pain that was quickly followed by the nothingness of unconsciousness. Her last thought was that it really was too bad that the pod was designed for people much taller than her. Perhaps if she had been bigger she wouldn't have been thrown around so much. That, and she was really, really getting sick of getting knocked unconscious.

* * *

Awareness returned with the sluggishness of a minor concussion. Her body ached from various bruises and a sharp pain pulsed in her temple with every beat of her heart. She felt heavy and lethargic, and there was an uncomfortable press of hot rock against her back. Every breath drew in a familiar, gaseous poison that tightened her lungs and shortened her breath, adding to her confusion, her disorientation that not even the familiar jumble of voices and words could help ground her.

" DanielJackson, can you hear me? DanielJackson, respond."

" Yeah, Teal'c, we're in one piece - I think. Just hang tight, we'll be in touch," a male voice responded before there was movement beside her. "How is she?"

And then there was the cool press of unfamiliar hands against her arms, her legs - hands that pressed against new aches and pains, and hands that awoke something dark, terrified, and primal within her. In an instant Buffy's eyes were open as she shoved the person that was crouched beside her and rolled forward into an easy crouch. Her breathing was even, her muscles loose, and her mind calm as she fell into a rhythm that was instinctive. She was reaching for a weapon that could be used to protect herself and harm her enemies when she looked up into Daniel's startled gaze.

And just like that the spell was broken and she came back to herself. Sam was laying in a stunned sprawl at her feet, Martouf crouched beside her, and Daniel stood with hands held up in open supplication before her. They were on Netu's surface, and the eerie landscape was spread before her: a dark crust that was blanketed beneath deep mounds of loosely shifting ash, stirred by the constant dry wind. Jagged spires that were a mottled red color dotted a horizon that was lit by sporadic bursts of lightning, with open streams of boiling lava cutting through the barren rock. All around their small group great gaping maws belched toxic fumes, polluting the air and squeezing the water from their pores. The sky was a mottled blackish-gray and Sokar's large, deadened planet loomed in the distance through the hazy gray atmosphere.

And in her hands was a gun that she was pointing straight at Daniel's heart.

Without saying a word, Buffy lowered the weapon and slowly returned it to her ankle holster. Her dignity was shattered into small fragments that littered the ground in jagged pieces, but Buffy lifted her chin with a pride that she didn't feel and met the archaeologist's wary gaze with a flat stare of her own. And all the while she tried to ignore the memories that their stares had triggered. For Daniel, and Sam, and even Martouf had looked at her, just then, the same way that she had looked at Angel when he had returned from his hundreds of years in hell. They looked at her with pity, yes, but also sadness, worry, and fear.

Raw, primal fear.

Shaking her head at the thought, Buffy picked up her pack with feigned nonchalance and offered the group a small, shallow smile. With a nod of her head, she indicated the direction they should take and then started out at a leisurely pace - one that would allow them to scramble for the supplies they had dropped, finish their worried, whispered conversations that she couldn't help to overhear, and then hurry after her before she had gotten too far.

Partly she felt anger at her slip in control, and she wanted to berate herself for causing them to look at her that way. The other part, however... oh yes, there were recriminations for her slip, but then there was also a surge of satisfaction, for if these people, her newest allies, could look at her with such fear - just imagine how her enemies were going to look when she finally had the chance to make them pay for every bruise, every maltreatment, and every bad memory that they had ever given her and Jack.

Yes, it was good to be back on Netu. For the first time in six months she had weapons, she had an escape plan, and even more importantly, she smelled pretty.

Netu was going down.

**To be continued...**


	19. Chapter 19

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 19   
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** My apologies for the horrible delay in getting this chapter out to you. Summer has been full of wonderful distractions, from weddings, to beautiful beaches, to vacations, to traveling, to the wonders of HP:DH, and, of course, to all of the amazing fanfiction that so many writers have been pouring out this summer. Truly fantastic stuff, and I dedicate this chapter to the writers in the BtVS fandom, as well as SG1, SGA, HP, LoTR, and of course, Supernatural. You make these varied worlds come alive, and you keep the story going - even when the official story is done. Not to mention the abundance of Limp!Sam, Limp!Legolas, Limp!Shepherd, Limp!Jack, Limp!Harry, and... well, to the general Limpness of our favorite heroes. What can I say? You guys can mangle our favorite characters like none other - and I thank you for that!

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and I think I'm getting much better at responding to your kind and encouraging words! Please keep them coming! YOU are my inspiration! Thank you!

* * *

Buffy and company moved through the underground, twisting tunnels of Netu in starts and stops that made a short trip stretch into something that was beginning to try Buffy's patience. It was strange, she had only been gone from the prison-moon for a little over 72 hours, and yet in that time so many things had changed that it seemed as though she had really been gone for much longer. Everything was exactly as she had left it: familiar tunnels that were rounded in such a way that it was obvious that they had not been created by nature - a reminder that long ago there had been a civilization here. This far below the surface the rock floor wasn't as hidden beneath blankets of ash, and so the dusty, scattered bones of the denizens that hadn't survived their time in Netu were easily seen by the hellish red light that seeped from the magma flows, filling the tunnels with scorching heat. The toxic fumes, while not nearly as intolerable as on the surface, were still so thick that in places she could _see_ the gases wavering in the weak light.

It was all as she had left it, and yet so much had changed.

The denizens were everywhere. Men and women and those only men and women-like, scarred, dirty, and looking even more shifty than usual, prowled the tunnels in small, lethal groups with their hand-fashioned clubs and knives. It took every bit of skill Buffy possessed to steer the small rescue party away from the patrolling, marauding groups of prisoners that looked as though they were on a manhunt, and in the end, she had no choice but to make a suggestion that she had been desperately hoping to avoid.

"You want us to what?" Daniel had asked as Buffy dropped the heavy pack beside her, her hazel eyes filled with regret.

"Martouf wanted us to blend," she had sighed with a fierce scowl at the Tok'ra who hadn't hesitated in following her instructions, "and so it's time we blend." Without another word, Buffy had ripped off one sleeve of her brand new black tee-shirt before cutting a large rip in the other. She then proceeded to twist, pull, and tear her clothing before she began the even more dreaded task of rubbing ash over her clothes and every inch of exposed skin. While it had taken her nearly an hour to scrub away the dirt, grime, and sweat of Netu, it had only taken five minutes to put it all back, and while the others took it a step further and mussed their hair, Buffy refused.

A girl had to draw the line somewhere.

So now they blended, somewhat, but Buffy still erred on the side of caution and avoided the main tunnels, instead directing them through small, cramped passageways that were seldom used and took them well out of their way in order to avoid the main points of activity - though even then some encounters were unavoidable.

Buffy didn't recognize the first two denizens that had been unlucky enough to stumble across their small party, but that didn't stop her from acting with the full and efficient savagery of the slayer. Thanks to her enhanced hearing, she had known that the encounter was unavoidable minutes before the two had even turned into the cramped tunnel that she and the others had been quietly moving down. Sam and Daniel had instinctively gone for their side arms, but before they could fire and alert all of Netu to their presence, Buffy had already stepped into their line of fire. The denizens were non-humans, and since Buffy didn't sense the presence of a goa'uld symbiote, she took them down the old-fashioned way.

With a grim smile that she had a hard time repressing, Buffy darted towards her fellow inmate that looked like an extra from Star Wars - the really hairy kind that made that strange trilling noise. A Noogie? A Bookie? Only this one looked a lot less friendly and really, really unpleasant. Even as Buffy aimed a powerful kick at his knee that sent him crashing to the floor with a gurgle of pain, she couldn't help but wonder if he was so grumpy because of all the hair that covered every inch of his body. The thing had to be even more hot than she was, and that was bound to ruin anyone's day, she figured as she snapped his neck with a quick, brutal twist before moving to his companion - something that looked decidedly fish-like, only on two legs.

Or was it three?

Buffy didn't waste time counting and instead grabbed two of its tentacles and twirled behind him quicker than the eye could follow. The denizen gave off one short, strangled gasp before she twisted his own tentacles around his neck and choked him until he finally stopped moving.

It was over in a matter of seconds, and when she turned back to her companions she wasn't surprised to find Daniel looking at her in a strange mix of shock and horror, while Martouf stared at her in dismay. Sam, however, merely blinked for a moment before the older woman stepped forward and passed over a wicked-looking hunting knife that the major had pulled from her utility belt. "Here, this might work better," she had stated as she offered the knife to Buffy.

And it did, for those that they couldn't avoid Buffy now took down quickly and quietly with a single stab of the hunting knife to the back of her adversary's neck. The blow was lethal for just about anything, including a goa'uld, for a knife thrust to the back of the neck severed the spinal column and the goa'uld symbiote that was wrapped tightly around the fragile bone.

"Our intelligence never gave us cause to believe that Netu would be so... populated," Martouf commented as Buffy finished off another denizen with quiet efficiency.

"Oh, Sokar has a lot of enemies," Buffy returned as she grimly wiped the blade clean on her own clothing, further staining the ratty tee-shirt and adding to the authenticity of her costume. "But they're not usually so... social," she finished with a worried frown as her sensitive hearing picked up the approach of yet another denizen - this one traveling alone.

"Then something's happened since you left?" Daniel asked as he carefully stepped over the goa'uld she had just killed - his eyes carefully avoiding any prolonged contact with the unseeing gaze of a woman that may have once been young and pretty, but without the healing aid of a sarcophagus, was now wrinkled, dirty, and very, very dead, despite the best intentions of her symbiote. "Could someone have noticed your absence?"

"Aside from Jack?" she asked as she readied her blade and slipped into a crouch. By now, both the major and Martouf were so attuned to her every move that they were able to recognize the signs that company was coming. Like Buffy, Sam had taken to carrying a knife, though she had yet found occasion to use it, and even Martouf's body visibly tensed, as though in preparation for battle. Daniel, however, was persistently oblivious to any incoming danger and reacted with surprise every time Buffy eliminated a threat he hadn't been aware of. "I can think of a few people who might have noticed," she muttered as one such person rounded the corner and froze at the sight of Buffy and her companions, and more importantly, the dead denizen a little further behind them.

"Haremakhet."

"Pishtik," Buffy returned as she warily stood from her crouch, her gaze never once leaving the dark, wide-set eyes of her most trusted contact. He was little taller than Buffy, but his dark, oily skin covered a lean, muscle-hardened body that moved with a powerful, serpentine grace.

"It has been some time since I have seen you. I was... concerned," Pishtik stated with a small smile and a mocking dip to his head. "And who are your companions?" he asked, his eyes slipping past her slim figure to the three people that stood uncertainly behind her. "The rest of your search party, perhaps?"

"Something like that," Buffy returned with a negligent shrug, even as she quietly wondered what the little snake was talking about. "But we'll have to catch up later. Right now we have... searching to do," she murmured with a steely smile that was all teeth. Pishtik seemed to get the message for with nothing more than a respectful nod of his head and a speculative look at her companions and the dead goa'uld, the small creature slid past them and continued on his way, leaving them alone once more. "Well, that isn't good," she murmured as she looked in the direction that he had just disappeared, a small frown pulling at her lips.

"Why did you not kill him like the others?" Martouf questioned, his voice sharp as her uncertainty fed his own.

"He's a friend... sort of," she returned as she tried to force her worry aside.

"Then why are you concerned?" the Tok'ra persisted, causing Buffy to turn to the taller man with a scowl.

"Did I say I was concerned?"

"Well," Daniel offered with a small shrug, "you certainly don't seem-"

"Daniel, we're on Netu," Buffy interrupted with a roll of her eyes. "Aside from Jack, there's no such thing as a real friend. I trust Pishtik more than any of the other denizens, but that doesn't mean that I actually _trust_ him. Now come on - we need to get our move on."

"Where to?" Sam asked as she shifted her grip on the knife that remained tightly gripped in one hand, even as she fell into step.

"First we find Jack, and then we'll worry about your dad," Buffy returned as she led the group further and deeper into the underground labyrinth of Netu.

"But how are we going to find Jack?" Daniel persisted from his position in between Buffy and Sam, with Martouf once more bringing up the rear. This place is a maze!"

"True, but this rat has lived in this maze long enough to know her way around," Buffy countered with a confidence that she didn't quite feel. "Follow me - we'll try our place first, and move out from there," she instructed, never once giving voice to the doubts that plagued her every step.

Netu was the same as when she had left it, and yet in all the ways that mattered, so much had changed. The denizens were on the prowl, hungry for blood, and someone had given Pishtik the impression that she was on a search party - but why and for whom was she supposed to be searching? What had happened in the few days that she had been gone to make a simple rescue mission suddenly seem that much more complicated?

* * *

With a grace that belied his long, lean frame, Jack stepped over the trip wire to his homemade alarm system and ducked through the small opening into the cavern that he and Buffy had once shared. Jacob was already standing against the far wall, a small, jagged rock clutched in one hand and a fierce look darkening his stern features. Once he recognized Jack, his hand lowered and the deep lines in his face softened into a look of profound relief.

"Damnit, Jack, don't do that to me! You were gone so long that I was starting to think that something had happened."

"Something _has_ happened," Jack countered as his thin lips twisted into something that twitched from a smile to a frown and then back again. He jittered forward and then eased back, his hands refusing to stay still even as he paced in the small confines of the cavern. "We have a problem," he admitted, and yet he couldn't put the right amount of worry into his voice, and the statement came out sounding more like a question. "It turns out that Bynarr's right-hand man is none other than Apophis, and Apophis knows that I'm the one that broke you out."

"Jesus, Jack," Jacob breathed as he sagged back against the craggy wall, his trembling hand reaching up to wipe at his sweaty forehead.

"But then there's the good news," Jack countered as his lips finally settled into a big smile. Hell, he was practically _beaming_, and yet he couldn't seem to stop, couldn't seem to care as he clapped his hands together. "I finally figured out what happened to Buffy - how she disappeared."

"Your companion? The woman from Earth?"

"You betcha," Jack confirmed as he finally stopped in his pacing to turn the full force of his grin on his friend. "It was magic," he stated, dropping the bombshell with all of the gusto of a man who had just realized that the world wasn't as godawful as he had recently been led to believe.

"Magic," Jacob parroted, but there was no excitement or relief in his voice. There was confusion and sadness. Despair. In the few seconds that Jack stood and grinned at his friend, it looked as though the former-general had aged a few more years as more worry and care lines became etched into his solemn features. "Jack, what's wrong with you? We need to focus on... on what to do here! On how to get out of here before Sokar tortures and kills us both!"

"Which is exactly what I'm doing!" Jack returned with a grin that refused to be diminished by his friend's growing concern and his obvious belief that the colonel had well and truly lost it. "If Buffy got out of here by magic, that means that she's not dead, and probably back on Earth! Which means that she's probably already gotten a hold of the SGC and that help is-" Jack broke off as their small little chamber became clouded with an infusion of billowing ash in the same moment that they were both deafened by the sound of crashing rock.

It was the alarm system that Jack had spent days, maybe even weeks perfecting, and even as he noted how well the thing had worked, he was already jumping into action as he bodily shoved Jacob back into the corner furthest from the small opening into the chamber. Someone had tripped the wire in the black depths of the outside tunnel, causing a cascade of rocks and boulders to hammer the tunnel floor. The plume of ash had been the unintended side effect, and Jack was both cursing and praising this development as he stood protectively in front of his friend, safely hidden from sight behind the thick ash cloud, but now also blind in his safety.

"Daniel," a soft, familiar voice sighed with a strained patience that he had come to recognize over countless months of inactivity, "I said to step _over_ the trip wire, not _on_ it."

Jacob had stiffened behind him, and Jack was struck dumb and mute by the voice he had so desperately missed - so much so that not even the next voice was enough to break him from his paralysis.

"Yes, well not everyone has superhuman power of sight."

"I don't _have_ supervision. It's just called good genes," came the wonderful retort even as his straining vision caught a shifting in the ash. One moment there was nothing but gray swirls that stung his dry eyes and caused his forehead to pinch in furrowed concentration, and then there was movement, the sound of soft footsteps, and suddenly Buffy was there, standing before him with a bright, sunny smile on her face.

For one long moment, nothing else mattered. Buffy stood an inch or two taller than he remembered, and as his eyes slowly moved from head to foot, he took note of her upswept ponytail of long, glistening blonde hair, her mangled black tee-shirt, the strap of a backpack digging into one shoulder, the familiar green BDUs, and the black combat boots that were responsible for her added height. Her clothing was torn, her skin marred by dirt and ash with small rivulets of sweat, and yet even from where he was standing he could still smell the fresh, clean scent of her shining head of hair. She was like a vision - a beautiful, unbelievable vision in the darkness that was Netu.

"Hey stranger. You miss me?"

Jack started forward, but as always, Buffy beat him to it as she dropped her pack and launched herself the few short steps forward until her small body was molded against his long, lean frame. There was no time for thought or careful deliberation as Jack pulled her up until her powerful legs were wrapped around his waist. Her arms encircled his neck and he crushed her against him, all soft curves and familiar, burning heat as his lips greedily found her own. Her mouth was soft and pliant, his was hungry and demanding as he poured all of his fear, his grief, and his desperation into a kiss that could have lasted an eternity...

... if someone hadn't offered a pointed and polite cough from behind them.

At once the world came crashing back, and with a jolt that closely resembled joy - pure and unadulterated joy - Jack remembered the other familiar voice from the tunnel that led into his little haven. With some regret, he unwrapped himself from Buffy and eased the small slayer to the floor beside him, his eyes eagerly darting towards the little opening that served as the only entrance to their little home. By now, the ash cloud had settled and he found Daniel standing just inside the doorway, with Carter crouched in the opening behind him. For a moment, silence fell in the cavern as he eagerly devoured the features of the teammates that he had missed so desperately, all the while aware of their own careful inspection. They seemed dismayed by what they found - emaciated frame, tattered clothing, sallow, sweat-streaked skin, but Jack was nothing but elated. Sure, they were dirty, their clothes torn, and they looked a little more worn around the edges, but they were whole, healthy, and he'd be damned if Danny hadn't gotten an actual haircut since they'd last parted.

"Well, it's about damn time!" he stated with a bright grin that felt like it was stretching his face to the breaking point. His words broke their quiet appraisal, and immediately the worry and concern fell from Daniel's expressive face to be replaced by a look of such relief and happiness that Jack had no doubt as to how much his team had missed him - had _grieved_ for him.

"Sorry we're late," Daniel returned as he ambled forward with a casualness that was belied by the crushing strength of his hug. It was the kind of embrace that was rare between men. It wasn't the casual, keep-your-distance-and-pat-the-back kind of hug, but the I'm-going-to-hold-you-close-and-try-to-crush-you-with-my-manliness kind of hug. It was the kind of hug that you shared when death had been too close, and the possibility of never seeing one another again had loomed too large and real. It was the hug of a separation that had been too long and one in which everyone had secretly thought to be permanent. In short, it was the girliest hug that two manly men could ever share.

"Apparently the news of your demise was greatly exaggerated," Daniel stated as he squeezed one last time before pulling back. The emotion in his shining eyes, however, said everything else.

Grinning, Jack took his cue and stepped back, squeezing his friend's arms one more time before turning back to the door and throwing a wide smile at his 2IC. "Damn, Carter, you're a sight for sore eyes," he called in welcome, military protocol staying her at the door even as she leveled a huge grin at her CO.

"Sir-" she began, her words faltering as she finally noted the man standing behind him. "Dad!" she called out, her rigid posture breaking as she hurried forward to be swept into her own embrace with her father.

Just as quickly, however, Jack's attention was drawn back to the door as a second man entered through the small entrance and into the cramped chamber. "Marty!" he acknowledged, surprise coloring his features. "Damn, it's even good to see you!" he admitted as he clapped the younger-looking man on the back - and yet through all of the greetings, Jack was constantly aware of Buffy's small, soft presence by his side. She had stepped back and made room for his friends, gave them the space for their heartfelt greetings and embraces, but not once did she fully move from his side. Her eyes had never left his shadowed, craggy features and her small, soft smile hadn't once lifted from her lips. Jack knew this because even as his attention became solely focused on his team members, he had never once allowed her to move from the corners of his eyes.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Jack turned fully towards Buffy and arched a single brow in her direction. "How-"

"Long story short?" Buffy interrupted with a gentle smile. At his nod, the small slayer took a slow breath before nodding towards the others. "Okay, but Sam still won't like it," she cautioned.

"Is that because it has to do with magic?" he asked with a knowing grin, his eyes drifting to where Jacob was scowling at him.

"You betcha," she returned with a broad wink - the familiar expression causing both Carter and Daniel to exchange knowing looks. "Willow pulled me out with her magic and a lot of help from the others, but she couldn't send me back for you. So, that long story short is that Xander and I took a road trip to Colorado Springs."

"Once Buffy explained what happened," Sam interrupted, "we contacted our allies looking for either support or information, and in doing so, we learned that Dad was missing as well, and that he was most likely captured by Sokar," she explained as she turned and nodded towards her father. Her blue eyes betrayed her for the briefest of moments - showing her grief and her fear - before they hardened. "Thanks to help from the Tok'ra, we were able to devise a joint rescue mission, which General Hammond approved."

"Now that's more like it," Jack agreed with a small smile as he clapped his hands together. "Remind me to buy him something nice when we get back. Maybe a big hat," he added before turning and pointing a long, slender finger at Jacob. "See, and you thought I was crazy for busting you out."

"Well, you've certainly stirred things up," Buffy retorted with a frustrated sigh as she finally allowed some of her protective mask to fade. The small slayer lifted a weary hand and rubbed it against her forehead, redistributing the dust and ash into new places. "Jack, I don't know if you've noticed, but it's a madhouse out there."

"Yeah, I have noticed," Jack admitted with a small grimace as he slowly, painfully lowered himself down onto the floor with his back pressed against the craggy chamber wall. For a moment, he pretended that everyone wasn't staring at him in concern and he lifted his hand, palm up, and met Buffy's eyes. With a small smile Buffy accepted the invitation, her small, sweaty hand becoming entwined with his as she settled beside him with much more grace, ease, and fluidity. Jack glowered in response, but the glower turned into a small smile as she took the opportunity to burrow up against his side with her head pillowed against his shoulder.

To Daniel and Carter's credit, he only caught another look flit between them before they purposely turned away - Carter to her father who she subtly helped settle on the part of the floor that made up the bed, and Daniel to a restless sort of pacing from one corner of the room to the other, his eyes curiously moving over the rock walls, the thin vein of magma, the rags, and the small articles of bone and metal they had traded and fashioned. Still, Jack couldn't help but notice that neither Carter nor Daniel had moved too far away from him - a feat made easy at how small the chamber was, and ill-made for such a large gathering. Plus there was the casual touches that they dropped on him, a hand brushing against his arm as Daniel made a circuit, Carter's foot brushing against his as she settled closer to her father. He could relate to that need to be close to one who had been gone, he realized as his gaze fell upon the crown of golden blonde hair that was nestled beside him.

"So what _is_ the plan?" he finally asked as his eyes swept up to look at the room at large. "And where's Teal'c?" he asked, his gaze narrowing on his two teammates and the significant lack of a third.

In response, Daniel merely paused in his aimless pacing and lifted a small, silver piece of shiny metal to his lips. "Tea'lc, come in. It's Daniel," he stated, rather unnecessarily, Jack thought as Teal'c's wonderfully deep voice filtered through the small device.

"This is Teal'c. Have you located Colonel O'Neill, DanielJackson?"

Or maybe it was just a communicator thing, Jack mused as he accepted the little device from Daniel with a bright smile. "Big Guy - it's great hearing your voice again!"

"As it is to hear yours, ONeill," Teal'c returned, and though Jack doubted that either Buffy, Jacob, or Martouf could have detected a difference in the deep rumble, Jack _could_, and his heart warmed all the more for the honest joy he could hear in the Jaffa's voice.

"Where do they have you stashed?"

"I am in a teltak in orbit above Netu," Teal'c explained in that same voice while Jack raised an eyebrow at his 2IC.

"Buffy told us about the rings in Bynarr's quarters," Sam explained, the months of separation doing little to break her understanding of his silent commands. "You see, sir, Martouf and I believe that-"

"To make a really, really long and extremely boring and technical story short," Buffy interrupted from beside him as she tilted her face back to meet his gaze, "Teal'c should be able to intercept the rings with the ship."

"Good enough for me," Jack stated, nodding his head in agreement. "But just one problem. How are we supposed to get Jacob there without discovery?" he asked, his smile turning into a look of puzzled concentration. "Bynarr has flashed his face around to all of the other denizens, and everyone is hoping to collect the reward for his capture. And to make matters worse, I just ran into Apophis - who is apparently Nao'nak-"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Buffy muttered beneath her breath with a soft squeeze of his hand.

"-and while he didn't know that you were gone," Jack continued without pause as he returned Buffy's squeeze, "he does know that I'm the one that broke Jacob out. The only reason he hasn't turned us in yet is because he wants out of here just as bad as we do." At Daniel's skeptical look Jack shrugged his shoulders. "He thinks we have an escape plan and he wants in on it."

Just as Jack knew he would, Daniel stopped short in his pacing and turned towards him with an incredulous expression. "That's-"

"Not such a bad idea," Buffy concluded for the archaeologist, but as he and everyone else turned to her, mouths agape, Jack just _knew_ that wasn't how Daniel was going to finish that sentence.

He was right.

"That's _ridiculous_," Daniel stressed, the archaeologist's eyes narrowed upon the small blonde that remained passively tucked against Jack's side. "Buffy, you may not know the full story about Apophis," he began, causing Jack to inwardly cringe. "He's evil and he can't be trusted. He's killed hundreds - thousands of people. He's tortured-"

"Yeah, I sort of picked up on that during the months that I spent getting tortured by him," Buffy returned with a soft snort.

"BuffySummers," Teal'c's voice called out, reminding Jack that he was still holding the communicator's button, allowing the Jaffa to follow their conversation from his place orbiting in space, "if you understand this truth, then you must also see the folly in any plan that involves Apophis as an ally."

"No, what I understand is that with so many people out hunting for Jacob, it will be nearly impossible to get him anywhere near Bynarr's quarters," she returned without a single ounce of bite to her voice. "Sorry guys, but there just ain't going to be any sneaking going on."

"Which means..." Jack trailed off, his eyes narrowed on the small, calm pile of slayer that lay pooled against him.

"Which means that maybe we should just use plain sight."

With a soft, tired sigh Jack leaned his head back against the craggy rock wall. "This is going to be one of those Scooby plans that you've told me so much about, isn't it?" he asked, already noting the hint of resignation that colored his question. "The really crazy ones that never should have worked-"

"-and yet always do?" Buffy returned as she angled her head back so she could smile cheerily up at him. "Yeah, it's one of those," she confirmed with a pleased nod before turning back to the others. "All we have to do is enlist Apophis' help. As Bynarr's first prime, no one is going to even blink as we parade our prisoner all the way to Bynarr's quarters. Then, we just kill Bynarr and make our escape."

"You mean, kill Bynarr _and_ Apophis, right?" Jack clarified as Buffy turned her brilliant smile towards him.

"Yeah, I have no problem with that."

**To Be Continued...**


	20. Chapter 20

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 20  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all of the continued support and the reminders to get moving and leave you with another update. It is thanks to every one of you and your wonderful reviews that I find the motivation to keep chugging this thing out. The _great_ news is that this weekend has been a very, very productive weekend for me. Folks - we're in the end stages. I predict two more chapters until this beast is done! The better news is that you won't even have to wait _two months_ for the next chapter! Soon - I promise you soon! And again - thank you for the motivation!

I also wanted to draw attention to the _music video_ that onlimain made for the first part of the Twist of Fate trilogy. You can watch it on my website, either by linking through my author's profile and checking out the Images page for Twist of Fate, or by going to: www dot equinoxium dot com / tof / images dot aspx

You guys spoil me and I can't thank you enough for everything that you do - whether writing reviews, creating artwork, or now even music videos. I am both humbled and in awe of your own creativity. _Thank you!_

* * *

The dimly-lit tunnel was quiet save for her quiet, carefully placed footsteps and the reassuring tread of the man that walked beside her. They had left the others back in the small cavern, much to their complaint, but Buffy had been firm and Jack had been adamant. They were on the hunt for Apophis, and Buffy and Jack had insisted that they wait to reveal the existence of SG-1 on Ne'tu until the last possible moment, less Apophis have any more incentive to betray them. The others would make use of their time - or at least, Martouf was going to make use of the time as he used the Tok'ra healing device on Jacob. Buffy had wanted for Jack to stay and also undergo the healing effects, and Sam and Daniel had agreed, but Jack had been equally adamant that there was no way in hell he was letting Buffy out of his sights - especially so that she could go and hunt down Apophis all on her own. Buffy had attempted to remind him that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and had managed to get his team there all in one piece. In return, Jack had glared, a glare that was only softened as his gaze shifted down to the wrist that had been broken in the assault that had taken place only three days previous.

It worked.

And so Buffy and Jack moved through the twisting tunnels of Ne'tu, glaring down any denizen they passed in equal mistrust and hatred, ever on the look out for their elusive query. Not that Buffy was paying half the attention that she should have. Oh, she knew that she should have been focused on her environment - keeping her senses attuned for company and her muscles loose and ready for action; she knew that she should have been working through their upcoming confrontation with Apophis - the creature that was responsible for months of torture and the slow breaking of her spirit, not to mention her rescue from the prying hands that would have finally finished what Apophis had begun; she should have been analyzing their 'plan' from every corner, and working through every detail. Buffy should have been doing all of this and more.

She wasn't.

Jack was walking beside her, his long stride somehow a perfect match for her hurried pace. Jack was holding her hand, lean, nimble fingers entwined with her smaller digits in a loose, gentle embrace. Jack was with her, beside her, breathing the same toxic air and bumping his hip against her side. He was distracting, invigorating, and he made her skin tingle with an awareness that had nothing to do with the supernatural, and everything to do with the way her heart hammered at his simple touch; he made her tremble with a heat that had nothing to do with the fiery moon in which they walked, and everything to do with the dawning realization that Colonel Jack O'Neill was far more than a fellow prisoner, a fellow inmate. No, somehow, someway, sometime during their captivity, this man had wormed his way into a heart that had already been cracked by her father's abandonment, broken when Angel had walked out on her for the last time, chipped by Parker's callousness and her own foolish, girlish actions, fractured by Riley's downward spiral and hasty departure, shattered by her mother's death, and then ground into dust by a world that had finally demanded too much when it asked for her sister. There should have been nothing left - nothing left to lust and nothing left to love - certainly not after leaving a world that she had willingly forsaken only to enter into a world of torture, death, and the rape of body, mind and soul. That this cracked, broken, chipped, fractured, shattered, and grounded heart could somehow have been mended in such an ugly world only gave further testament to the man that walked beside her - the man that was responsible for healing a heart with his soft smiles, his open laughter, his sharp wit and burning sarcasm, and the gentle touches that she had unwittingly missed so much when she had been torn from this and returned to a world that should have been safety, love, and home.

Sunnydale _was_ all of those things, always would be, and yet Buffy now knew that unless there was a Jack O'Neill somehow, someway a part of that world, that life, it would forever be lacking in the most fundamental of ways.

"Crap."

"What?" Jack returned, the word clipped with the tension that suddenly thrummed through his body and into the hand that had unconsciously tightened upon her own. The crushing grip would have hurt a normal person, but Buffy barely noticed the twinge of pain as she turned towards him and looked at him with serious, haunted eyes. A moment later she felt Jack relax as he realized that her uttered curse had nothing to do with an impending threat, and he turned to her with warm brown eyes that were crinkled with concern. "What's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowed and lined with deep-set wrinkles that marked his forehead and framed his serious gaze - wrinkles that she had counted and smoothed with small hands while he slept in her embrace.

"What's wrong?" Buffy parroted as she rounded on him, her eyes flashing her ire. "_You're_ what's wrong!" she accused as she withdrew her hand from his and planted her fists upon her hips. Her feet were spread shoulder-length apart, her muscles tight and quivering, and Jack unconsciously responded to her movements as his body mirrored her own, even as his features creased in confusion.

"I'm what's wrong?" he returned with a baffled expression. "How can I be what's wrong? I haven't _done_ anything! I haven't had _time_ do do anything! You disappeared and have been _gone_ and you only just got back! How could I have-"

"You- You-" Buffy interrupted, only to flounder for an explanation. How could she put into words the realization that Jack O'Neill had somehow made something shattered and broken into something whole? How could she explain that by doing so, he had saved her - and by saving her, he had also doomed her? She had a past and a track record that was impossible to ignore. She wanted love; she _needed_ love; but more and more she was beginning to think that Buffy Summers was one person who just wasn't supposed to _have_ love. Love always ended in messy, messy ways in which there was brokenness, and heartache, and badness. Her life was complicated in the deadly kind of way - full of heated battles and enemies that were constantly after her blood. She could die at any moment, and the world, ever unaware of the war that she fought and the front line on which she stood, would never even notice her passing.

"Oh."

Startled, Buffy turned away from her inner struggle and lifted her gaze to find Jack staring at her with a sad sort of understanding. "Oh?" she parroted, but then she saw that his eyes were filled with compassion as he lifted his hand and brushed his bruised, scraped knuckles against her dirt-streaked cheek - and then he smiled. He smiled in that full, open way that caused Buffy's heart to flutter and her mind to clear.

"Oh," she returned, her own face flooded with that same sad understanding. Colonel Jack O'Neill had a past and a track record that was impossible to ignore. Once upon a time, Jack O'Neill had a wife whom he had loved dearly, and a son that he had cherished. Charlie had died, tragically, and Jack had turned away from the wife he had loved and his marriage had crumbled. It had crumbled because Jack's heart had been cracked, broken, chipped, fractured, shattered, and ground into dust, same as hers. He had believed that even though he wanted love, _needed_ love, perhaps it was something that Jack O'Neill just wasn't supposed to have. Love had ended in a way that was messy, and in which there was brokenness, and heartache, and badness. It had ended in a way that had him turning from this world. Besides, his life was complicated in the deadly kind of way - full of heated battles and enemies that were constantly after his blood. He could die at any moment, and the world, ever unaware of the war that he fought and the front line on which he stood, would never even notice his passing.

"Oh," she repeated, and this time there was a matching smile on her face as she impulsively moved to the tips of her toes, her hands fisting in his tattered black tee-shirt, and she kissed him softly, but firmly, on his wonderfully thin, dry lips. Jack returned the kiss, all hard, angular lines, and she felt his arms wrap around her back until she was enfolded in his embrace, his breath sighing through her and reminding her that as wonderful and confusing as he had made her life, she had somehow managed to return the favor. She had Sunnydale, and he had Cheyenne Mountain, but somehow Buffy figured that they would make it work. Some things were just too good to let go that easily. Hell, if they managed to mesh so well on the big stuff, what was a little problem with geography?

Grinning through the kiss, Buffy finally pulled away, her hand once more twining with his as she pulled him down the quiet tunnel.

"Do we, uh... need to talk about this?" Jack casually asked, causing Buffy's smile to grow as she heard the uncertainty in his voice. Talking was one thing, but to talk about their _feelings_? Well, that was something entirely different, a fact that Buffy had grown to understand during their months of captivity.

"Nah, it can wait until later," she offered glibly, amused with his soft sigh of relief. "Then again, if you want to talk now..."

"No, no... later works for me," Jack quickly assured, and Buffy's smile deepened - and then froze.

"Ahead," she muttered, her movement stilled as she strained to make out the quiet conversation that had caught her attention. The voices were coming from around the next twist in their tunnel. "Apophis... Pishtik," she muttered, her eyes narrowing in concentration before she mutely shook her head. "I think they're alone," she stated, before her own words finally sunk in.

Apophis.

Pishtik.

_Pishtik!_

"That little snake!" she hissed as she hurried forward, Jack falling into step behind her. It had to of been only hours since she and the rest of the rescue party had run into her closest ally - an encounter from which she had allowed him to walk away unscathed. No other denizen had been permitted to view SG-1 and live. Yes, Sam, Daniel and Martouf could have been mistaken for any other denizen out on the prowl for an escaped Tok'ra, just another inmate to this prison world, but all it would have taken was word of Haremakhet and three strangers reaching the wrong person, and the right conclusions to be drawn, for their cover to be broken and the rescue plan thwarted. Buffy had been so careful...

"Buffy!"

"Pishtik saw me with the others!" Buffy returned in a harsh whisper, her steps never faltering. "He's going to tell... Apophis," she finished as she turned the corner, the goa'uld's head lifting from his conversation with the small, reptilian man - his eyes glinting behind his mask with the knowledge that she had been hoping to withhold. Then again, maybe it was inevitable, she reasoned with little conviction. Despite their bedraggled appearance, Apophis would have recognized her BDUs as something that she could only have gotten from Earth. He wasn't stupid, but without Pishtik's observations, the question of her BDUs would have left him off-balance.

She had liked the idea of an off-balance Apophis.

"Haremakhet," Pishtik chirped in surprise, and Buffy felt her ire change directions as she glared at the oily little cretin that had sold his information to Bynarr's right-hand man.

"Pishtik," Buffy returned as Jack stepped beside her, his expression cold and impassive. "And Na'onak," she added as her eyes swept over to meet Apophis' knowing gaze - a golden-hued gaze that shifted towards Pishtik as his staff weapon was raised and discharged, killing his informant without uttering a single word of warning.

Buffy was stunned. There was movement beside her as Jack shifted to stand protectively before her, as though he believed that Apophis would turn his staff weapon upon them next. There were harsh words exchanged, but Buffy's eyes were riveted upon the look of surprise that was etched upon Pishtik's dead features.

Pishtik had been her closest ally, _her_ informant, and he had betrayed her. He had reported on her and the rest of SG-1 to Na'onak, and in doing so he had sealed his own fate. Pishtik was dead, and if Buffy was honest, he should have been dead the moment that he first saw Buffy and the others in that tunnel, just a few hours previously. But she hadn't killed him. Buffy had let Pishtik go because despite her months of captivity and her hellish experiences, despite her very nature as a slayer, the Chosen One, Buffy just didn't have it in her to kill someone that had been something like a friend - an ally. Yes, she had done it before, but only when there seemed no other option. Never had she done so in cold blood, and secretly, Buffy couldn't help but hope that she would never reach a time when such a thing was possible for her.

"How could it be that your team is here? On Ne'tu?" Apophis was demanding as Buffy finally turned back to the heated conversation.

"You're a god. Shouldn't you already know the answer to this question?" Jack returned with dry contempt, his posture slouched and his arms crossed defiantly across his chest - the perfect image of bored disdain.

"_Tau'ri!_" Apophis hissed the word as though it were a curse - something that just caused Jack's lips to lift in a cold smile.

"Don't you mean _insolent_ Tau'ri?" the colonel needled before waving a casual hand in the face of Apophis' anger. "I'd think you'd be used to that by now."

"But getting back to the point," Buffy broke in with a gentle elbow to Jack's side. Seriously, she understood the desire to antagonize one's enemies, but not when they needed aforementioned enemy in order to make their escape. Then again, looking back on her first partnership with Spike, she imagined that she hadn't been much different. With a shrug, she moved until she was standing at Jack's side and nodded at the goa'uld. "Jack said you wanted in on the escape plan. Is this still true?"

As Apophis' gaze shifted towards her, his hand tightening on his staff weapon, Buffy had her answer.

"Good. If you can help us get to Bynarr's quarters, we all have a way to get off of this moon."

Behind his mask, Apophis' eyes narrowed. "If you are referring to the rings, that will only transport us as far as Sokar's planet. It would be a suicide mission."

"Yeah, we had something a little different in mind," Jack returned with a negligent shrug, his hands thrust deep into his ripped pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

"And what guarantee do I have that you will not simply turn around and kill me the moment that we have arrived in Bynarr's chambers?"

"Uh - how about the fact that we have a deal?" Buffy replied, her lips tightening with the lie.

Apophis gave his reply in the form of an incredulous snort.

"Hey - we're the good guys, remember?" she demanded, offended that he didn't believe her even as she ignored the fact that he had good reason not to. The plan was, after all, to kill Apophis the moment they gained access to Bynarr's chambers. Crossing her fingers behind her back, she solemnly stated, "We don't break our promises."

"And this is not the first occasion on which I have had to deal with the Tau'ri," Apophis returned with a disdained glare.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Jack asked, the perfect picture of indignation.

"It means," Apophis parroted, his head tilting to the side, "that I will need an additional guarantee. One that will ensure that I will not be double-crossed."

"Such as?" Jack sighed.

"The Tok'ra," he decisively returned, his eyes hard and his voice firm. "The Tok'ra will remain under my guard, as is only fitting for this ruse to work. If any of your team double-crosses me, he will be the first to suffer my wrath."

"Agreed," Jack returned. Just as quickly Buffy turned to him in surprise, but he ignored her questioning glance and nodded at the goa'uld. "Wait here for us, and we'll return shortly with Jacob and the others. And remember - this is your only ticket off of this tugboat. Double-crossing us won't get you into Sokar's good graces, and then you'll have to settle for being Bynarr's _servant_ until your host finally gives out." Without waiting for a response, Jack grabbed her hand and pulled her back in the direction that they had come.

"You know," she muttered as they rounded the corner and hurried back in a very meandering, haphazard fashion towards their hidden cavern, "somehow I really doubt that Sam is going to like this idea."

"She doesn't have to like it," Jack returned, his stern expression dimming as he turned to her with a small smile. "Besides, I imagine that it's going to be a long trip home, and I doubt that even Apophis will be able to keep Jacob under guard all that time without slipping. Now come on - let's get the others and get the hell off this hell-moon. I've been craving a nice, juicy steak since the moment we all stumbled into this mess."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy hurried to keep pace with his longer strides. "Yeah, well you might as well keep on dreaming about your steak, because if your Nazi-Doctor has her way, you're going to be eating oatmeal until you're old and gray... well, older and more gray," she amended with a smirk before skipping ahead, his chuff of outraged laughter following in her wake.

* * *

Under normal circumstances Jack O'Neill really hated to be wrong. He was a Colonel in the United States Air Force, second-in-command of the Stargate program, and the leader of the program's premiere gate team - or at least he was all of that before he got sentenced to Ne'tu. Regardless, he was responsible for making first contact with innumerable alien races, had been infused with the library of knowledge of an ancient race of beings, and had even been told that he may be the next step in human evolution. It was a pretty lofty place to be, and you just didn't get there when you were in the habit of being wrong. Not that he'd never been wrong before. When your team consisted of a cultural and language expert, a certified astro geek, and a guru of alien worlds and battle techniques, you actually grew quite accustomed to being wrong - but that certainly didn't make the being of wrong any easier. This day, however, Jack was quite happy to concede that he had been wrong and that Buffy's 'Scooby' idea had been in the right.

This idea was _good_.

Yes, actually getting Jacob to the place where they could meet up with Apophis had been rather difficult and had involved a lot of bloodshed. Luckily, all the blood that had been shed had belonged to the unfortunate denizens that they had been unable to avoid along the way. And yes, the actual point of integrating their group with Apophis hadn't exactly been without stress. Apophis was, after all, responsible for kidnapping Daniel's wife, sticking her with a goa'uld, not to mention getting her pregnant, only to steal her back once she gave birth. Awkward was putting that meeting very mildly.

Still, blood hadn't been shed and they had been able to cement plans and begin their ruse. Since Buffy knew the way, she was leading their little entourage, with Jacob, an impressive facade of defeat clouding his features, following, with he and Carter keeping guard to either side. Apophis was, of course, following immediately behind his 'prisoner,' his staff weapon charged and pressed against the former-general's back. Danny and Martouf filled out their rear-guard, and while Jack wasn't really happy with the idea of Danny being out of his direct line of sight, he figured that this was a better situation then having Danny in a place where he couldn't see Apophis. As it was, the sight of Buffy's taut back and the soft sway of her hips was the only thing that alleviated the itch of having a sworn enemy with a weapon at his back.

Not that Buffy seemed entirely at ease with the situation, either. Despite the fact that all he saw was her backside, which, truth be told, was entirely enjoyable, the fact remained that though she held her head high, her shoulders were stiff with tension that radiated through her body with every step that took them deeper into the hordes of gathered denizens. It seemed as though word of their 'capture' had spread, and the wide hallways and open caverns in which they passed were filled with faces that were shadowed with jealousy, hatred, and a burning anger. Bynarr had promised much for the capture of the missing Tok'ra, and it was only through fear of Na'onak, Apophis' guise, that kept them at bay.

It was a good plan.

A _great_ plan.

That didn't mean that Jack was liking the idea that they were walking right through a horde of very angry, very scary people.

With a soft sigh of relief, Jack watched as Buffy finally stopped before a double door that was guarded by two lumbering denizens. She arched a slender brow at the brutes, utterly unconcerned with their fierce stares, and Jack felt a flash of pride burn through him. It hadn't taken long for Jack to realize just how strong Buffy truly was - not only physically strong, but emotionally. She had survived hell, literally, and despite the many abuses that she had suffered, she still hadn't been broken. Not now, not ever. And from her earlier outburst, and everything that hadn't been said, but which he had read in her confused gaze, Jack knew that at least part of the reason for her continued survival was the same reason that he was still up, moving, and slinging insults against his worst enemies: Buffy had given him the strength he had needed, when he had needed it, just as he had done for her.

More than that, however, was the realization of how much he had grown to care for her, without thought or intention. When she had disappeared, it had nearly been enough to break him. This small slip of a girl had somehow crept into a place long kept locked away and she had breathed warmth and life into what had been deadened and cold. She had kept hope alive in him - hope for rescue, and more importantly, hope for a future in which there was more than just the love for his team and his country. It was a hope both alien and heart-breakingly familiar, and a hope that Jack _would_ talk about with her, no matter how much his male pride shied away from the idea.

"We come to see Bynarr, Lord of Ne'tu," Apophis ordered, breaking Jack from his scattered thoughts. Carter was shooting him looks that were dotted with concern, but he ignored his second-in-command as he instead checked on Danny before turning and following the others into Bynarr's chambers.

The room was large, and obviously something that dated back to a time when a civilization, and not a prison, had inhabited the moon, though it seemed as though Bynarr had introduced his own decorating scheme. The room was dark and shadowed, torch-lit. The floor was stone, and the walls seemed to be overlaid with bones - leg bones, arm bones, and the occasional skull. It actually reminded Jack of the catacombs beneath Paris - though not in any sort of a good way.

As one they shuffled forward, but as Bynarr, much taller, fatter, and uglier in person, stepped forward in greeting, his arms spread wide and a large, fierce smile lifting his lips, Jack, Sam, Daniel and Martouf fell back. Bynarr's bald head glistened with sweat, and while his good idea was piercing as it swept over their entourage, Jack couldn't help but become fixated by the eye that had, reportedly, been gouged out by Sokar himself as punishment for some transgression or another. The wound had healed, but badly, and the skin was torn and misshapen and it oozed a yellow pus that smelled foul, even from a distance.

"Na'onak! Haremakhet, old friend!" he greeted in a voice that boomed in the large enclosure. "I see that you have captured the Tok'ra," the overlord of Ne'tu continued as he stepped before Jacob, his eyes shrewdly inspecting his catch even as the tok'ra in question lowered his eyes in a show of meek subservience. Apophis remained directly behind his captive/hostage, his staff weapon pressed into the man's back, and Buffy moved forward at the greeting and nodded with false respect. The greeting was apparently what was expected, and with a negligent wave of his hand, Bynarr dismissed the two guards. As they retreated from the room, slowly closing the door behind them, the goa'uld turned his attention to Jack and the others. "And are these the denizens responsible for breaking the Tok'ra free?" he demanded, his eyes glinting as he raised his hand device towards them.

"Nope, that'd be him," Jack quickly stated as he jerked his thumb at Marty. All eyes followed the movement, Carter and Daniel's full of recrimination and Marty's filled with wounded surprise - but it was the opening that Apophis had been waiting for as the snake shifted his staff from Jacob's back just long enough to fire a killing shot at the back of Bynarr's neck.

It was over before it started, almost anticlimactic, and Jack couldn't help but wish that more of their missions could go this smoothly. Maybe he had been a bit hasty when he had described Buffy's scooby plans as something that never went off as they had intended.

But then Apophis shifted his staff weapon just a bit further, and the next two shots hit Buffy right in the chest. The momentum was enough to propel her back, and she hit the ground hard - sliding a short, blood-streaked distance before coming to rest in a splay of deadened limbs.

**To be continued...**


	21. Chapter 21

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 21  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** Yes, I realize that it was cruel to leave you guys where I did last time around, and as I tried to convey in my replies to your reviews, it really was just the best place to leave the chapter! I guess that you'll see why with this next installment. Happy reading, and thank you, _thank you_ for the fantastic reviews! You guys made me spend _another_ weekend completely devoted to this story, and the conclusion is only a few chapters away. _Thank you!_

* * *

In that one horrible moment when Jack heard the gunshot that ended Charlie's life, time felt as though it slowed to a crawl. He had been sitting on the front step, Sarah cradled between his legs, looking at Charlie's school pictures when the shot rang out. They had both looked up towards the second-floor window, and Jack could remember everything standing still as his mind recognized the shot for what it was, but not for what it meant - not yet. But then everything clicked and Sarah was screaming out Charlie's name. Jack had raced upstairs, moving as fast as he could, but everything was so slow... so slow that there had been too much time to remember each and every moment that he had ever spent with his son. Time was moving so slow that his thoughts flashed on every possible future he had ever envisioned for his little boy.

And there had been Charlie lying on the floor.

Bleeding.

His handgun was on the floor beside his child's unmoving hand.

Slowly... so slowly...

Jack had cradled his dead, bleeding son in his arms.

The world should have stopped moving. Time should have stopped turning.

His son was dead.

Charlie was dead.

The paramedics came and they took Charlie away, and Jack began to wonder if time would ever resume its normal pace.

In the moment that Apophis shot Buffy not once, but twice, at point-blank range and in the chest, time did the opposite. It sped up. It sped up to the point where he was on the floor beside her before his mind had even had the chance to register the thought that Apophis had shot Buffy. _Apophis had shot Buffy_. Just bam, shot, and then he was on the floor beside her, his mind frozen into stillness as the rest of the world fell silent.

She was lying on her back with a rapidly spreading pool of blood beneath her. Her camo-clad legs were twitching, spasming in pain - boots skittering against the hard floor. Her black tee-shirt was saturated with blood, the scorched cotton melded to the large, grisly wounds: one just above her left breast, above her heart, and the other high in her abdomen. The smell of burnt flesh and fresh blood coiled in his nose, made his empty stomach heave, but Jack ignored its roiling protest as his gaze finally lifted and settled upon her bloodless, tortured features.

Buffy was in pain. So much pain. Shudders wracked her small body and blood bubbled from between her tightly clenched lips as she somehow managed to withhold her screams. Tears trailed down her pale cheeks, and her eyes were clenched shut, and all Jack could think was that there shouldn't have been red staining her lips and dribbling down her chin.

Everything was happening so fast - too fast. He heard the others yelling at Apophis, was vaguely aware that Carter and Daniel had their sidearms aimed at the snake, but the snake was using Jacob as a shield and they couldn't get in a clear shot. Martouf was there, somewhere, but they were all moving at the speed of light and Jack didn't have time to focus on them.

So he focused on Buffy.

His training told him that he shouldn't move her, and instructed him to put pressure on the wounds and try to stop the bleeding. So Jack did. He lifted shaking hands and pressed one against each gaping hole, feeling her hot blood ooze between his fingers, charred skin and cotton crumbling beneath the pressure, and her body bucking beneath his touch as a jagged scream was finally ripped from her tightly clenched lips. And then Jack was sobbing as he withdrew his bloody hands and threw his training out the window.

Her eyes were open, wild and hazed with pain, as he grabbed her shoulders and heaved her up until she was cradled against him. She screamed with the movement, and he thought that he may have screamed with her. He wasn't sure. There wasn't time enough to figure it out. Once more he pressed his hands against the wounds, and once more she cried out, her body bucking beneath the pressure before falling limp against him. He thought she may have passed out from the pain, prayed that she had, but then her hazel eyes were open, they were clear, and they were looking up into his own.

He was supposed to tell her not to move, but when she lifted a quivering hand and pressed it against his cheek, even for the briefest of moments, he smiled.

He was supposed to tell her not to talk, but when she returned his smile and whispered to him, he felt that smile crumble.

"I'm sorry - so sorry. Just... just wanted you safe," she murmured as the tremors began to slow, her panicked, pained breathing easing. And Jack understood. She wasn't apologizing for coming back for him when she had finally been safe; for risking her own life to save his own. She was apologizing for Apophis shooting her, for making her bleed in his arms, just like Charlie.

She was apologizing for the conversation that they would now never get to have.

"I think I... I've fallen... in love... with you."

And he understood that, too. If things weren't moving so fast, if he had time to move his stubborn lips to form words, he would have told her that he, too, had fallen in love. Despite the brittle thing that had become his heart, despite how jealously he guarded his solitude, she had found a way inside that cold, dead thing and she had breathed new life into it. She had given him a reason to live, and a reason to hope.

And with her next words, she destroyed what she alone had built.

"I'm sorry."

With those words time, as it had a way of doing, once more clicked back into place and Jack felt everything slow in a way that it had no right doing. Buffy's eyes were closed, her body limp in his arms, but her grisly, wounded chest still moved with the slightest breath of air. His mind was now operating at the correct speed, and he found himself turning to his team, his friends. They were in a stalemate, Jacob in jeopardy and Apophis still breathing, but though time was moving slower, there still wasn't enough and so he ignored this fact and instead turned to the tok'ra that he loved to torment. "Martouf, hurry!" he demanded as the alien in question raised an eyebrow before hesitantly doing as ordered. Jack would have yelled and berated some more, but some part of him already understood the tok'ra's reluctance.

Martouf dug the healing device out of the dropped bag and knelt beside him, his eyes full of knowledge and compassion. Jack hated those eyes - hated that knowing - but Martouf said nothing as he lifted the healing device and held it over Buffy's torn, bloody chest. The device began to glow and Marty's eyes slipped closed in concentration, but the forlorn hope revealed itself for what it was when he lowered the device only a moment later.

"I am sorry, Colonel O'Neill, but she is too injured," he murmured as he shook his head and backed away. What he didn't say, but what Jack heard nonetheless, was that the healing device was just that: a tool for healing. It wasn't a sarcophagus and it was incapable of healing wounds so severe - so mortal. Jack knew this - had known it from the moment he had knelt at Buffy's side and assessed the damage with weary, knowing eyes. "There is nothing I can do."

"But there is something _I_ can do," Apophis stated, his voice too loud, too harsh in the quiet turmoil of Jack's mind.

But it was a voice - a voice that broke through the void and caused Jack to lower Buffy gently, tenderly to the ground before surging up in a tidal wave of blood-red fury. He rushed forward, murder in his mind, his eyes, and his outstretched hands when both Daniel and Carter intercepted him, their muscles straining, quivering as they held him back.

"Sir!" Carter gasped, the word a cry of sympathy and a plea for the father that stood between them and his objective.

Jack heard; Jack cared; but Jack was hurting and angry and blinded by fury and so he surged forward once more, his horror spitting out in a roar that deafened him to his team's grunts of exertion. "You betrayed us!" he roared at Apophis, even with the sure knowledge that Buffy was bleeding, bleeding, _dying_ on the floor behind him.

"I was only beating you to the betrayal," Apophis returned with a calm flippancy that only managed to enrage him further. "We both know that you would never have allowed me to live."

"And so you kill Buffy? Why?!" Jack demanded as his fight began to flee beneath the oppressive knowledge that Buffy was _dying_ on the floor behind him. She was bleeding, bleeding, _dying_ on the fricking floor and he wasn't there, he wasn't _there_ and she was _dying._

"No," Apophis returned, his voice filled with contempt. "I mortally wound her and then provide you with a solution that is mutually beneficial."

Jack wanted to turn from Buffy's killer. He wanted to look away from the tortured disgust that twisted Jacob's features. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't, for to look away would also mean to look at Danny's empathy, and Carter's pity, and Buffy _dying_. He couldn't do that. He couldn't sit there and watch as another person he loved died. Not again. Not when-

"What solution?" Daniel asked, dragging Jack's attention back to the snake that had killed Buffy, the one that was responsible for making her bleed all over the floor behind him. He could feel the wet press of her blood against his knees from where it had soaked through the legs of his pants. He could feel the tackiness of it on his hands from where he had pressed them against her wet, gaping, burnt wounds.

"My symbiote can heal her."

With those five words, Jack felt the encroaching fog of shock dissipate as his gaze snapped back onto the smug visage of a masked monster. Daniel and Carter were no longer restraining him, but that was fine because Jack was through with the rushing and the need to kill, maim, and destroy. No, now his attention was riveted upon the monster that had killed Buffy, and yet was also promising to save her. But Apophis was a snake, a monster, a villain, and Jack remembered this, _knew_ this, and so his attention shifted to where Jacob was looking behind him at Buffy's prone form.

With a slow dip of his head, the former-general marked the transition of control from himself to Selmak. "I cannot say for certain, but such damage may not be beyond a symbiote's ability to heal, provided the symbiote is strong and healthy," the tok'ra stated, her words slow and measured and deep.

"Then either Lantash or Selmak should do it," Daniel quickly interrupted. "They can temporarily abandon Martouf or Jacob and heal the damage, and then return to them once Buffy has been healed."

The suggestion was only out there for a moment before Jack, himself, quashed it. "No," he stated, feeling everyone's eyes shift to him in surprise. "No, we can't risk it," he muttered as his gaze returned to the smug, self-satisfied grin of the monster that had killed her. "Buffy has destroyed countless symbiotes since our capture. She may not be able to tell the difference between a goa'uld symbiote, or the tok'ra symbiote that is trying to help her," he explained as his mind took over where his heart could not. He was once more shutting down his emotions and he began to think with the cold, analytical mind of a soldier. "Once Buffy got her strength back, she would kill the symbiote."

"Then why aren't you afraid that Buffy will just kill you, too?" Daniel asked with a puzzled frown as he, too, turned his attention back to Apophis.

"Haremakhet was able to rule her for a time," Apophis returned, giving the answer that Jack had already known, "and Haremakhet was weak."

"But why Buffy?" Jack asked, even though this, too, he thought he understood. "You could have chosen any one of-"

"No, any other choice would have been foolish," Apophis stated with bald disdain. "You would have never allowed me to use any of your team as hosts, for then the blending would be permanent. You would have never been able to force me to flee my new host, but Buffy Summers... we both know that eventually she will regain strength enough to destroy me - if I haven't already left. And I will leave," he continued. "Once we are clear from Ne'tu, you will allow me my freedom. When I have obtained a new host, I will set her free."

The argument was elegant in its simplicity. Immediately Daniel began to argue with himself, aloud, about what decision should be made - what was right versus what Buffy would want. Carter and the others were silent, apparently lost in their own internal deliberations, but Jack knew that the answer was simple, really. He knew without a doubt that Buffy would rather die than ever have to go through a blending again. Each time she was forced to endure the process was just another time that she came that closer to breaking. She had once admitted that having a symbiote climb its way inside you, wrapping itself around your spinal cord and merging with your mind was pain beyond belief, and an intrusion on the worst kind of scale. It was rape in the spiritual, emotional, and mental sense, and Buffy had already had to endure countless rapes. The last straw had been Harry, because Harry had defeated her, if only temporarily, and as a result she had been forced to not only share headspace with him, but share in his every horrific memory.

And that was just a minor goa'uld. To force Buffy to have to endure memories of every horrible thing Apophis had ever done, to live it as if those memories were her own, and worse, to never really lose those memories, those sensations... it was a horror beyond horror.

And it was also the easiest decision that Jack had ever made.

"Do it," he ordered, the soft command overriding Daniel's arguments and stopping the others cold.

Apophis met his eyes, read the intention there, and nodded once before lowering his staff weapon and stepping around his hostage. Carter bypassed the goa'uld and hurried to her father's side, slipping into his embrace, and Daniel and Martouf both stepped out of the way - Danny shooting him concerned, uncertain looks all the while.

Jack ignored them all.

He ignored them as he followed Apophis over to where Buffy remained prone and unmoving upon the blood-stained floor. She was very pale now, and a thick line of blood trailed from her unmoving lips, but Jack saw the blood bubble ever so slightly and knew that their deliberation hadn't stolen her only chance.

It was hard seeing her so grievously wounded and still upon the floor. Buffy was never still. She was a constant ball of energy and movement; a constant flux of fluidity and grace and wit. She was none of these things now. She was silence. She was stillness. She was the on-rush of death.

Apophis knelt beside her, and Jack wanted to turn away, _needed _to turn away, but he also knew that he couldn't. He was responsible for this decision, and the least that he could do was bare witness to the atrocities that he had brought upon her. And so he knelt opposite of Apophis and took Buffy's still, cold hand in his own and he watched - watched as Apophis removed his mask and revealed a face that was hideously disfigured. He watched as his nemesis leaned over the woman that he loved and bent forward until his lips were pressed against her own in a bloody kiss - and he prayed that someday, somehow, Buffy would be able to forgive him.

She didn't struggle. She didn't shake. There were no convulsions or seizures or screams to mark the transition. Just one moment Apophis was leaning over her and she was still, and in the next Apophis was falling back, eyes wide and terrified while he stammered in a language that Jack didn't understand.

But that was no longer Apophis.

Jack knew this, recognized it, and as Daniel hurried forward and answered the terrified, scarred man in that flowing language, Jack turned back to Buffy and watched as her eyes opened and her stare turned towards him. The beautiful hazel eyes were a stranger's, and they flashed with golden light before dimming once more.

They were Buffy's eyes, and yet Jack swore that he could recognize Apophis in their depths.

"Assist me," she spoke... _he_ spoke in a voice that was Buffy's, but not. It was deep, distorted, and again, Jack swore he could hear Apophis in the cold, commanding tones.

Woodenly, Jack reached for Buffy's arm... Apophis' arm, as Martouf took the other, and between them they levered Buffy... _Apophis_ to his feet. He couldn't stand on his own, and so Jack supported him, Buffy's arm draped over his shoulder, and Martouf bearing the other half of her... his weight. Between them they managed to maneuver themselves into the golden circle that marked the rings. Distantly Jack heard Daniel communicating with Teal'c, Sam working with her father at the ring's controls, and then there was a flash of light and...

... and they were free.

* * *

The teltak's shower was nothing like home, but the water was hot, the pressure pounding, the supply unlimited, and so Jack lingered under the scalding spray. His thoughts drifted to his house, and he wondered if they had sold it, if they had kept his stuff, or if he was homeless and without possessions, without mementos of a life once lived. Most of his things could be replaced, with time, but there were some that were irreplaceable: photos of Sarah and Charlie, letters, medals, ribbons, a few things that had belonged to his parents, his Simpson video collection. This was all that remained of a life that he had fought so desperately to return to.

At least there would be a life to which he could return.

As his soft sigh rattled in the small, alien bathroom where goa'uld gold met cold metal, Jack's thoughts then turned to the man that had hosted Apophis' symbiote through countless centuries - perhaps even millennia. There was no way to know just how long the man had been held captive, forced to live a life that was not his own, to do things beyond his control - a prisoner within his own body. By all accounts the man should have been crazy - stark raving mad - and perhaps he was. There was no way to know this, either, for the man was dead.

Carter said that the shock had been too much for his system; for his mind. He had been dominated and shoved back to bear witness to all of the atrocities that Apophis had committed - and there had been many. Over the course of his imprisonment he had been the unwilling participant to rape, torture, and murder, but he had also been the unwilling recipient to torture, to murder, and resurrection. So much he had done, and so much had been done to him. In the end, he had been freed, and he had died free.

To survive so much only to die when he was finally a prisoner no more... it was sad and it was wrong, but in a way, Jack couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't also a mercy. Martouf had seemed to think so, and Teal'c as well... or maybe the big guy was just grateful that even if Apophis was not yet dead, the image of his former master _was_.

Teal'c.

Their reunion hadn't been wrought with tears, or even manly hugs, but it had included a slow nodding of the head, a solid hand upon his shoulder, and a glimmering in a pair of warm, proud dark eyes. The deep, grave silence had exuded friendship, respect, and an understanding for what it meant to endure hell. It was also an understanding that for Jack, the hell was not yet over.

"Hey, Jack?"

"Showering, Daniel. I'm showering and rinsing and scrubbing," Jack sighed as he leaned back against a wall that remained cold despite the onrush of steaming water.

"And you've been showering and rinsing and scrubbing for over two hours," Daniel returned in a voice laced with regret. "Sam wanted me to tell you that the ship carries only so much water, and while its systems are significantly advanced to clean and recycle the water you're using, they can only take so much."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that if you don't finish it up in the next ten minutes, Sam said that you're going to make the ship explode," Daniel returned, and Jack could hear the shrug in his voice. "I've also left some clean clothes, as well as a few other things that Buffy picked up for you before we left." And here was where Daniel's voice faltered. There was a hitch of breath, audible over the pounding of the water, and then Daniel continued on, his voice bright with false cheer. "So, just finish up in there and we'll, uh... we'll be out here."

Jack waited until he heard the door close before he released the breath that he had been holding. He was pretty sure that the impending explosion was an exaggeration on Daniel's part, but he took the message to heart and finished scrubbing off the final layer of Ne'tu-contaminated skin, even as he did his best to not think about the one subject that he had so far managed to avoid. Not that it helped.

Outside the shower, Jack found a small towel, a fresh pair of BDUs in his size, clean socks and a pair of underwear, and an assortment of small, simple treasures. There was a new razor and a can of shaving cream - _shaving cream_ - and so Jack spent another half hour taking his time in shaving off the grizzled hair that hid a face that was scraped and raw-looking. For a moment, he looked at his face - hallowed cheeks, sunken eyes, sallow skin. He looked like someone who had spent the last six months in hell, shaving without a mirror, soap or shaving cream, while using nothing but the rough, sharpened edge of a knife fashioned from bone. There was also a real honest-to-god _toothbrush_ with _toothpaste_. Brushing his teeth became so much fun that Jack did it three times, just for the hell of it. The last item was a container of deodorant, and it was that last treasure that cracked his firm resolve and left him sitting on the bathroom floor in a hurting daze.

_Buffy._

Daniel didn't need to say it for him to know that the petite slayer had been the one responsible for all of the simple pleasures that were spread out before him like a personal hygiene buffet, not when he had spent the last six months dreaming with her about these same things. Only Buffy would have understood the wonders of shampoo, and she, too, would have been overcome by the simple pleasure of polishing six month's worth of grime from her teeth. She would have understood the pure, blissful wonders of clean underwear. Of deodorant. Buffy would have understood all of these things and more, because it had been Buffy who had been trapped with him in hell. It had been Buffy that had kept him sane.

It was Buffy's blood that he had spent the first few moments of his shower washing away.

In the aftermath of their rescue, despite Apophis' intervention, those first few hours had been a struggle to save her. The wounds had been horrific, the damage impossibly severe, and yet they could do nothing for her but apply heavy gauze bandages to help stem the tide of blood that Apophis was slowly working to counter from the inside. In time, the bleeding had slowed and the bandages had no longer been needed, but Buffy had lost so much of the precious fluid that were it not for Apophis, she would have died from blood loss during those first few hectic hours. Last he saw, the wounds were scabbed and angry looking, the flesh still marred with burns, and the snake had entered into what Jacob had called a healing sleep.

It was the healing sleep that had broken him, for she had lain there looking for all the world like _Buffy_. It was impossible to look at her feminine form, the soft curves of her face, and _not_ think of her in terms of she, her, _Buffy_. But the fact remained that the person strapped to that hideous, gold-plated bench _wasn't_ Buffy. It was he, him, _Apophis_.

There had been talk of using a healing device to speed the healing, but Jack had been uncertain as to how that could affect Buffy eventually regaining control. No, better to wait and allow the healing to come as naturally as possible. He wouldn't dare.. couldn't dare risk the possibility that through their meddling, Buffy would somehow be unable to finally kick Apophis out and set herself free. But the watching and waiting had been killing him.

_Killing him._

This waiting, this watching - it was nothing new, not really. Back on Apophis' ship Buffy had been overcome by Harry, and the whiny, spineless goa'uld had run the show for a few days before the small slayer had reemerged victorious. During that time he had mocked Harry, antagonized him, and hated him all the same. He had looked into Buffy's eyes and he had seen a stranger. It had been hard, but this was proving to be impossible. Yes, Harry had been a stranger, but Apophis was no stranger. Apophis was his enemy - his nemesis. He was looking into the eyes of the woman he loved and all he could see was the person that he most hated.

He hadn't slept, not really, and he had barely eaten. He knew that the others were worried, that his team, his _friends_ were concerned for him, but every time he even looked at food, his stomach would rebel. Every time he closed his eyes, Buffy's choked words would come back to him. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat - not until Buffy overcame Apophis and finally gave him the death that he deserved.

**To be continued...**


	22. Chapter 22

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 22  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry! This chapter is about a month overdue, and my most sincere apologies for that. There are three chapters remaining in this story, and I was trying to finish all three before I posted again. The delay, however, cost me my confidence to the point where I recruited two friends to tear the chapters apart and make their demands. To that effect, my most profound thanks to both Lish and Levi - my two closest friends who have yet to snatch onto the joy that is fanfiction, and yet humored me by applying their BtVS and SG-1 knowledge to the end of this story.

My loyal readers - I give you this small chapter with my apologies, and while the remaining two chapters are still being edited, I'll do my best to get them to you shortly. Also, another thank you to whoever nominated me for the Best Unfinished Stargate Crossover in the Crossing Over Awards (coa dot tthfanfic dot com) on TTH. Who knows? Maybe you guys can give me the motivation needed to post the rest of this story in time to still qualify for the _finished_ section of the awards! ;p

Happy reading!

* * *

Apophis was _so_ dead.

Well he would be, just as soon as Buffy found what she was looking for.

She was sure that she would have found it already, but for the very real fact that the world was alive around her, so beautiful and vibrant after the hell of Ne'tu, and she was unable to take an active part in it.

Talk about distracting.

They were on Vorash, the planet that she and SG-1 had gated to before hopping on the teltak, and Martouf and Jacob had already taken off on their Tok'ra-related business. She was in a desert wasteland with the stargate towering in the distance, and SG-1 and their weapons at her back. The light was harsh, the wind clean and brisk, and the sand shifted beneath her feet with every step that she took - and yes, there was stepping and moving for while she _hated_ Apophis, she did have to give the snake credit. Even though she wasn't completely healed, she was certainly up and mobile.

The sparse vegetation was a strange, alien scraggly brush that scratched at the stiff, blood-soaked material of her pants - itching her skin in a way that Apophis seemed much better at ignoring than she was. She was hot, too - the harsh alien suns beating upon her head and shoulders, causing thin trickles of sweat to pool at the base of her back and in the valley between her breasts. You'd think that Apophis would be able to control the sweating a little better. Then again, he did seem pretty preoccupied with patching up his own messy handiwork.

She wondered if her hair still looked pretty, or if she had bled all over it.

See? Distractions.

Buffy had been conscious, or aware, for the last several hours. The first few moments of her awakening had been... well, distressing would be putting it mildly. Disturbing would be more accurate. Disturbing and panic-ridden. She had tried to move, tried to cry out, tried to _blink_, but her weakened body had betrayed her in a way that was all too painfully familiar, and so she had retreated into the furthest corners of her mind and she had waited and fretted and railed against the universe for once more placing her in this position.

There was a goa'uld symbiote in her body - _Apophis'_ symbiote - and she was powerless to prevent him from controlling her. He blinked for her when her eyes became dry. He spit out the blood when the coppery fluid coated her tongue. He coughed for her when her breathing became obstructed. He did all of this, and while he seemed too busy trying to keep her from dying, Buffy knew it wouldn't be long before he turned his attention inwards and began prying at her carefully shielded mind, digging for her secrets, her memories, and everything that made Buffy who she was. It would become an invasion not only of body, but mind as well.

With time she felt her strength return, and soon instinct and common sense were at war within her. Instinct said that there was an alien presence within her, and begged her to loosen the reigns on her Inner-Slayer so that vengeance could be had. Common sense dictated that she was still wounded - desperately so - and that to kill Apophis now would mean that he would stop fixing her, and she would only reclaim her mind and body in time to die on a teltak in the middle of nowhere - literally nowhere. Worse, that avenue led to her dying in Jack's arms. Again.

She couldn't do that to him. Not when the first goodbye had already been too hard.

She remembered unbearable pain.

_Unbearable_.

That was saying a lot, coming from a girl who had been drowned, stabbed, broken, and even torn asunder by the energies of an open portal - and that was before she began to consider the medical experimentation, the tortures, and the hells of living in Hell. Unbearable pain? That was a pretty big deal in her book.

With the pain came panic. She had been injured too many times before to not understand how seriously she was hurt. And then came Jack and the look in his eyes, and... Buffy knew. She knew she was dying - might as well already be dead - and that knowledge hurt worse than the pain itself. This was _Jack_ and she was _dying_ in his arms. There couldn't have been a crueler thing in all of the universe. Jack shouldn't have had to witness this, but in her final moments Buffy was grateful that he was there, because that meant he was there and that she wasn't dying alone.

She was dying and now they would never be able to have their conversation. They would never be able to figure out if that messy thing called love could have worked for them, geographic problems or not. Hell, they would never get to finish what they had started when Willow had so rudely interrupted them. All they had now were nevers.

Buffy had felt loved and cheated in her last few moments, and Jack's sad, terrified brown eyes were the last thing she saw before she had died.

At least, Buffy had _thought_ that she had died. Imagine her surprise when one moment death, the next life, with someone _else_ at the wheel - a mortal enemy, no less. What came then, aside from the pain and confusion and very real fear of finding someone else in control of her body, was a strange mix of elation and gratitude. She wasn't dead. _She wasn't dead_. Yes, Apophis was in control of her body, but Buffy wasn't dead, which meant that she had a chance to save herself, to save her future, to _have_ a future. It was enough to make a girl feel positively giddy about having her body controlled by the Big Bad.

Aside from the whole not-dead aspect, there was one other bit of shining happiness: she had been very much with the unconscious and dying during the transition of ownership, and as a result, there hadn't been the usual bombardment of everything that she had never wanted to know about Apophis and his evil life. No picture reel of things she didn't want to see, and no immersion of the senses for every past horror that Apophis had committed. No mental rape - not unless she went digging for it. Nope, just herself and dying one moment, with the tearful and heartfelt goodbye to Jack, the man that she had just admitted to loving, and the next?

_BAM!_

Backseat driver.

And so Buffy had hung back and commenced with the watching. She watched as Daniel checked her restraints and guarded her prostrate form - always a burning hatred shining from his gentle eyes. She watched as Sam and her father, Jacob, settled as far from her as they possibly could when limited to the storage area of the teltak. She watched as Martouf and Teal'c remained squirreled away in the cockpit, never venturing closer.

She watched as Jack avoided her.

At first, Buffy had been hurt and confused. Yes, she was not in control nor possession of her body, but this wasn't their first time on this freaky ride. Ass-Hat, too, had played driver for a time, and Jack had seemed to take great joy in lobbing insults and snide comments at the goa'uld. But then Buffy had begun to understand the reason for Jack's absence in every brief glance she was able to snatch and savor whenever Apophis happened to turn her head in his direction.

This possession was killing Jack.

Apophis sucked and she hated him, probably even more than she hated the Master, but she didn't hate him, didn't _loathe_ him in the way that she hated and loathed Angelus. If she allowed herself, even for the briefest of moments, to remember how she felt when Angelus had been in control of Angel... suddenly it all began to make a little more sense. Having Apophis running the show was killing Jack, and suddenly instinct began to win the war over common sense. This was reason enough to set the slayer free and then sit back and enjoy the show.

At least until Buffy began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, something really good could come from the lifetime of nightmares that this experience was going to bring - aside from actually getting to _have_ a lifetime in which to enjoy the not being of the dead, and the nightmares that came with that little joy ride, of course.

Maybe, just maybe Buffy could use this experience to her benefit. Maybe she could use this experience to do something wonderful for Jack - aside from rescuing him. Maybe she could use it to do something amazing for Daniel - aside from returning his best friend. Maybe she could even do something _utterly fantastic_ for the world - aside from continuously saving it. The possibilities were endless, and so Buffy began to dig.

And dig.

And dig some more.

The going was slow - something akin to peeling back the layers of an onion, and like an onion, there were tears with each new layer she revealed. Yes, she had missed the Apophis Slideshow, but this peeling, digging, turning wasn't without cost as she continuously exposed her mind, her psyche, and her soul to the darkness that lived within the small symbiote that was curled around her spine. It was hard work, dark work, and so very dangerous. She had to remain hidden in the shadows of her mind, ever careful and vigilant, desperate to ensure that Apophis never learned of what she was doing.

It also didn't help that she was continuously getting distracted by whatever Apophis was doing with her body. _Her_ body.

Like now.

They had reached the stargate and Apophis had situated himself - _herself_ - so that she was gazing up at the towering structure.

"Dial it up, Danny," Jack ordered from behind her, and though she could tell that Apophis was surprised by Jack's words, Buffy certainly wasn't.

It was time for the final betrayal.

Apophis had been right when he said that they had been planning on double crossing him all along - the slimy bastard had just beaten them to the double-cross. It was a funny thought, because not too long ago Buffy would have been horrified at a plan that involved giving a monster their word without any intention of keeping it. She had thought that being the Good Guys meant something. It meant being strong, capable, and trustworthy, because what else separated them from those they fought? Hell, even _Spike_ had kept his word when they had worked together to stop Angelus, all those years ago. In an ideal world, that was the way life should be - the way that the Good Guys did their business. But such a world _was _an ideal world - a naive world - and it wasn't the world in which she now found herself living.

Buffy had lost that innocence, that naiveté, when a hell goddess had come for her sister, and in doing so, condemned Buffy to six-months in Hell. In that battle Buffy had learned an important lesson: it wasn't about Good Guys, Bad Guys, or Better Guys. Being the penultimate Good Guy could lose battles, and sometimes promises needed to be broken and trust shattered if you wanted to win. She didn't live in a world of black and white, but one draped in shades of gray. You made your promises and you did your best to keep them, but if it meant the fate of the world, or even the fate of your sister, then all bets were off.

Buffy now understood this lesson, but she was starting to doubt the same was true for Apophis. If he really believed that Jack was going to just let him gate away in Buffy's body, then he had been spending too much time in a sarcophagus - or not enough. Jack obviously planned on taking Apophis back to Earth, kicking and screaming if necessary, and they would keep him there until Buffy found what she was looking for and kicked his ass. She'd done it a hundred times before, and Jack seemed to have no doubt that she could do it again. The realization made her want to kiss him - though at the moment, Apophis was busy making her glare at him and Daniel, both.

"No," Apophis growled, that startling mix of her voice with those cold, modulated tones. "I will gate from this world, alone, as per our agreement," he rumbled as he moved towards the dialing device, but Buffy barely noticed the movement as she was caught up with how strange it was to feel her vocal cords strain with use, and yet not have any control over what was being said.

Sighing, Jack didn't even bother to look at her - or Apophis, as the case may be. "Daniel, dial the gate," he repeated, his voice firm.

Just like that, Buffy's body was once more on the move as Apophis stormed across the sands until she was standing directly before Jack, her head tilted back so that she could meet his beautiful, wonderful glare. It was the most she had managed to look at him since Apophis had taken over, and she found herself momentarily abandoning her search as she began memorizing every craggy line of his face. It hurt, this looking. It hurt a lot, and she almost thanked Apophis for making her vision glow with a golden light that distorted Jack's angry features - anything to ruin the familiarity and the pain that it caused.

"We had an agreement, _Tau'ri_, and you will honor our agreement or else I will destroy this host."

Jack's derisive snort matched Buffy's own internal version, and she turned back to her search with renewed determination.

"In case you've failed to notice, you don't have a weapon," Jack pointed out with dry contempt.

Apophis answered with a smile that twisted Buffy's lips in a manner that felt strange and foreign - another distraction that she didn't need. "You forget," he replied, causing her voice to deepen in a way that made her vocal chords ache. "I _am_ a weapon. I control this host. I can make her heart stop beating, her lungs stop breathing, and her blood stop flowing. I can kill her with a thought."

Oh, _hell_ no.

Buffy's full attention became riveted upon the conversation as she unconsciously struggled for control. It was useless, of course, and only caused Apophis' attention to swivel in her direction when he proved his point by stopping her heart beating for just one moment.

It was enough.

Buffy felt as though she were a puppet whose strings had been cut. It was one moment that seemed to last an eternity as an impossible weight was suddenly pressing on her shoulders. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, and her body was a sudden frenzy of panic that couldn't be expressed.

It was hell.

And then it was over.

She felt Apophis' attention shift away from her, and she was suddenly looking upon Jack's solemn mask. There was no expression upon his face, and she knew that the snake-bastard was unable to read him, but Buffy could. His mind was in turmoil, and she just bet that he was missing his sunglasses more than ever. His sunglasses were another shield behind which he could hide, his baseball cap a tool to cast his face in shadows. She had forgotten both of those much missed items, and the pang she felt was the incentive she needed to hurry back to her search. She was close - so very close to finding what she needed, and she knew that now, more than ever, was when she needed to resume control.

This wasn't right. This wasn't the _plan_. Hell, the plan had gone out the window the second that Apophis had shot her.

_Stupid plan!_

"Please," Daniel mocked, every single ounce of his hatred for Apophis dripping from his voice. "If you kill Buffy, you kill yourself. Do you really expect us to believe that you'd be willing to kill yourself just to spite us?"

"And yet you expect me to believe that I will live if I go with you back to your planet?"

Well no, of course not. If Apophis fled from her body before Buffy had a chance to kill him, then Buffy knew that Jack had every intention of shooting the slimy snake until nothing but bloody pulp remained. After the last six months, she sincerely doubted that anyone would stop him. She knew that, the rest of the team knew that, but worse, apparently so did Apophis.

"Stupid, _stupid_ plan," Jack muttered, echoing her thoughts aloud before he followed it with a few select curses that Buffy didn't recognize.

Fun! If she lived through this, maybe Jack would teach them to her.

"Sir?" Carter asked, her eyes wide as she looked between her commander and Buffy, the enemy. "Sir, we can't actually let Apophis go," she stated in a soft undertone. "The moment that he arrives at his destination, you know that he will gate out to someplace different, and someplace after that, and after that. It will be impossible for us to follow him, and then, even if Apophis does leave her for a new host, or Buffy manages to kill him, she'll have no way to contact us, and we will have no way to contact her. Sir, she will have no way to return home. Wouldn't it be better.. more kind to-"

"Let her die?!" Jack hissed in return.

Buffy snorted.

Internally.

She couldn't help it! Had Sam already forgotten about Willow's witchy rescue? No, her best friend wasn't an Uber!Witch, but Willow had a group of scooby-friends that had helped and supported her in their efforts to find a way to save Buffy. Then again, maybe the Major was forgetting on purpose. Magic didn't seem to fit too well into her perfectly ordered world. Yet her friends had already snatched her from the far-reaches of space once before. What would make this time any different? So yes, going through the gate with Apophis would be bad, but it wouldn't be world-ending bad because Dawn would just have to do her bleeding, and Wills her witching, and then her friends would find her and pull her back. Again.

No, it wasn't rocket science.

It was better.

Still, Buffy really wasn't looking forward to spending another six months on some other alien planet. Her hair had looked so pretty...

"But Jack," Daniel spluttered, his large, beseeching eyes catching and pinning the colonel with their earnestness. "We can't just let Apophis... he... he's _Apophis_."

"Ah hell," Jack muttered as he tore his gaze away, and Buffy took that opportunity to stop focusing on the melodrama and return to the search that needed to be done. Now.

Besides, she already knew how this would end. You didn't spend six months in hell with a guy without learning a thing or two about him and those to whom he's closest. This was SG-1 in its entirety, and as Jack had told her in a million different ways, every single one of them had an opinion on what needed to be done, and maybe in their own way every one of them was right, but there could only be one decision to make and Jack had to be the one to make that decision. His team, in turn, had to be the ones to live with that decision - and they would, because that's just what they were: a team.

Besides, when it came down to it, there really wasn't a decision to be made. The really difficult one had already been decided the minute that Jack, and she was certain that Jack had been the one to make this choice, had agreed to allow Apophis to slither down Buffy's throat in a last-ditch effort to save her. This decision? This one was just supporting that first choice and giving Buffy another chance to overcome Apophis. Jack knew her. He _knew_ her and as a result, he knew that she was a fighter. A survivor. He needed to give her this chance and...

"_Beautiful plan!_" he whispered, and in that moment Buffy knew that Jack had come to the same conclusion that she had: this wasn't goodbye for forever, but just until Willow and the others did their own thing to bring her home.

"Let him go," Jack stated, his eyes clear, and Buffy approved of his decision even as she turned back to her search with a vengeance. While she could survive going through the gate, she really didn't want to wait another six months to see him or her friends again - to see her _sister_ again. They needed her - every single one of them, and all for their different reasons, but they needed her. And she needed them.

With a resigned sigh, Daniel stepped away from the dialing device and allowed Apophis to dial in an address that Buffy didn't recognize. Not that it would matter, because as the chevrons turned and locked into place, Buffy finally hit the jackpot. As the last symbol locked and the wormhole billowed out, Buffy was absorbing, memorizing, and consuming the information that she had been seeking. It was over in moments, and then she focused - Apophis had set her gaze on the stable, rippling blue waters of the open wormhole.

It was beautiful.

It was horrible.

"I'll be looking forward to having that conversation when you get back," Jack called out from behind her as Apophis began moving her towards the open gate. "We have a lot of things to talk about."

Yeah, that was a conversation that she had every intention of having, and with an internal, feral grin - Buffy let the slayer loose.

**To be continued...**


	23. Chapter 23

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 23  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** See? I'm capable of sticking to my promises - and this quick update is in thanks to everyone who has reviewed in the last few days. Your thoughts are always appreciated, and often times they are the very words that inspires an author to write faster, post quicker, and smile all week long. I need such warm thoughts up here in the frozen north! Happy reading, and I'll try to have the epilogue posted by Monday!

* * *

The change was jarring and sudden. One moment she was a prisoner inside her own body, the next she was standing beneath a hot, blistering sun with familiar, barren sand dunes and lonely rock formations stretched as far as her eye could see. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun's glare, and in doing so, she discovered that she had _moved her hand_. The shock had her drawing in a surprised breath which she promptly choked on as she realized that she was the one in control of her breathing. _She was the one in control_.

Buffy lifted her hands to her face, touching her lips and her open mouth in wonder. "What-" she began, her voice sounding loud and so unbelievably sweet when not corrupted by the harsh tones of a goa'uld symbiote. She was still wearing her blood-stained and hardened BDUs, the clothing just as uncomfortable as before, but now she was finally able to explore the two large holes in her tee-shirt with cautious fingers, only to find that beneath lay smooth, unmarked skin.

"Huh," she muttered, before quick hands darted up to fretfully pat at her high, smooth pony tail. A grin lit up her features, but her euphoria was short-lived as she finally recognized her surroundings. The desert landscape was a place in which she had only visited in her slayer dreams and visions, but it was a place that she would never forget. This place existed solely in her mind, and each time before she had stood in this spot, alone but for one other. This time was different.

Apophis stood behind her, bearing the body of the host that he had most treasured - the one that had perished just hours before in a shadowed corner of a stolen teltak. His dark frame was tall and leanly muscled, skin unmarred by age or deformity, and his black hair cut close against his gleaming skull. He was hot in that evil, I'm-out-to-kill-you-and-rule-the-world kind of way, and he was looking at her in shock and confusion.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, and though his voice rang with arrogance and disdain, Buffy now recognized the fear and uncertainty that shone in his golden-hued eyes.

Perhaps seeing through his illusions came with being an unwilling host to his freaky symbiote, but his question was fair. Buffy's retort was forgotten, however, as the First Slayer stepped out of the shimmering oasis and approached the goa'uld. It was impossible to judge the girl's height, as she never stood erect, and instead bobbed and weaved and crouched upon the shifting sand. Her skin, dark and burnt by the harsh sun, was painted white with symbols that resonated with something deep inside Buffy, but to which she had no conscious knowledge, and the girl's knotted, dread-locked hair cascaded over thin shoulders and framed a face that was fierce and savage.

Suddenly Buffy understood why she and Apophis were in this sacred domain, and with that understanding she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. This was no longer her fight, no longer her responsibility, for she had unleashed her Inner-Slayer and the First Slayer had responded. "This," Buffy answered with a cheeky smile, "would be where you get your comeuppance and I get my payback."

Snarling in response, Apophis turned and eyed the savage girl with disdain "Who is she?" he demanded as the First Slayer danced around him.

Leaving his question unanswered, Buffy purposely turned her back on Apophis and walked into the shade of a towering pillar of stone. The relief from the blistering sun was immediate, and she settled onto a massive boulder with a soft sigh of contentment. Only then did she return her attention to where Apophis simmered with anger. "You remember how you and Ass-Hat couldn't figure out what made me different from the other Tau'ri?" she returned with a negligent shrug. "She was what you were looking for," Buffy offered, pointing towards the First Slayer. "Now if only I had..." she began, her words trailing away as she turned and found a large bucket of popcorn sitting on the stone beside her. "That's what I'm talking about," Buffy muttered. Grinning, she settled the container on her lap and popped a few kernels into her mouth, savoring the mix of salt and butter.

"But I am a _God_!!" Apophis roared, the fear now burning bright and mingling with his indignation.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," Buffy admitted around a mouthful of heaven. "It's actually what got me into this mess in the first place," she explained- when she suddenly found herself once more back on Vorash, a prisoner of her own body with the open stargate looming before her. Apophis was back in control and she was moving towards the stargate with a lumbering, stilted gate that Buffy instinctively fought with every fiber of her being and-

Desert.

"What the hell?" Buffy demanded as she looked up from her popcorn to where the First Slayer was slowly backing away from Apophis, hissing at him as she made her retreat. "Hey, what are you doing?" Buffy demanded as she put the popcorn to the side. "You're supposed to be fighting him!" she accused as she angrily approached the savage slayer. "You know, commencing with the well-deserved ass-kickage? Doing your job?"

"Death is _your_ gift," the First Slayer returned, her dark, scary eyes meeting with Buffy's before-

Wormhole. Big whopping wormhole and Buffy was already partially through the gate when-

Desert.

"_Crap!_" Buffy cursed as she turned and turned and turned, but the First Slayer was gone and only Apophis remained in the desert wasteland. "Crap!" she reiterated, even as she finally understood what the savage girl had been trying to say all along - what had been happening all along. The First Slayer hadn't been swooping in to destroy the goa'uld threat to her body. The First Slayer was _dead_. She had been dead for longer than recorded history. It had been Buffy herself who had been doing the fighting, who had been doing the killing, for as she should have learned long ago, the slayer part of herself wasn't a separate entity: it was who Buffy was.

Buffy Summers _was_ the Slayer, and she needed to make her own justice.

"So much for my popcorn," Buffy grumbled as that earlier weight came crashing back upon her shoulders. It had been a long six months, and as Buffy stood beneath the baking sun with Apophis looming before her, she suddenly felt the hard edges of her imprisonment, her torture, her separation from those she loved, and the pain from her recent near-death. She was tired, wearied from her constant battles, and for the first time in long time, Buffy felt the creeping reach of her mother's death and Riley's abandonment - of her fight against a hell goddess and unbeatable odds.

She felt weighted, and even as she made the first move, a swift punch that rocked Apophis' head to the side, she knew that he, too, saw her weakness. A moment later he turned back, his hand wiping at the blood that dotted his chin, and his eyes flared with light. "I am a _God_," he hissed before he launched himself at her in a flurry of fists and feet that connected with the force of a hell-goddess.

* * *

_"Begin the rite of implantation," Apophis ordered as he waved a casual hand at someone that was beyond Buffy's line of vision._

_She couldn't see what was happening, no matter how hard she strained, and instead Buffy was resigned to listen to the wet squelch as a mature symbiote was pulled from a Jaffa's pouch. Her heart was hammering hard and fast now, a rapid staccato beat that drowned out his approaching steps until the Jaffa priest's impassive face finally came into view. Terror had stolen her voice as her eyes strayed down, almost unwillingly, until she saw the hissing creature that was Evil personified._

_She was helpless, powerless, and the demon knew this as it darted from the priest's hands and slid around her neck, under her head, and then tore through the newly healed skin at the base of her neck, invading her body and soul. It was every awful thing Buffy had ever imagined, worse than her worst nightmare - and yet, unlike in a nightmare, here she was unable to wake up. She could feel the mature symbiote as it wrapped itself inside of her - could feel its mind as it brushed against her own, and in that moment, as before, Buffy knew this creature, just as it knew her. She knew its name and the name of the queen who had spawned it. She knew its sordid history and every horror that it intended to commit with her own hands. It knew her secrets and desires, just as she knew its own baseless and craven wants - and that was before the true battle began._

_Agony came and seared the very act of thinking from her fumbled grasp, and inexorably she felt its will dominate her own, its presence driving her down and back to a place where she would be helpless - forced to watch and feel, but no longer able to control ought save for her thoughts. Terrified, weak, and helpless, Buffy was forced into that dark place._

* * *

The strength of Apophis' blows caught Buffy off-guard, and she was down and rolling in the hot sand as she reeled from the assault, both physical and mental. Memories had distracted her, trapped her, and ironically enough, Buffy found that she had underestimated the false god that towered over her. She had seen his arrogance, had delved into the horrors to be found in the depths of his mind, and yet she still hadn't understood that his will, his desire to live, was just as strong as her own.

Maybe stronger, she conceded as he followed her with a quick, sharp kick to her abdomen that had her curling around the pain.

* * *

_Exhausted, Buffy didn't even have the strength to prevent the Goa'uld from turning her chin towards him, her eyes locked with his dark gaze._

_"The rites of implantation are to be repeated until they are successful," Apophis stated, his words directed as much to his priests as Buffy herself, her body growing cold as his smile deepened. "And they will be successful. She is weary, and in the end, the goa'uld will emerge victorious."_

* * *

This was wrong. All wrong.

Buffy lay in the desert landscape that she had always associated with the primal strength and power of the slayer. This was supposed to be the root of her slayer essence, her place of victory, and instead Buffy's blood dribbled from her chin to be absorbed into the sands that cushioned her aching, battered body.

Her BDUs were further ripped and torn, her hair had come free of its elastic band and fell in lank waves around her face, and all the while the sun was harsh and hot and leeched her body of its moisture. She couldn't even work up the spit to rid her mouth of the blood that coated her teeth and ringed her cracked lips.

She was on her hands and knees, trying in vain to regain her feet when a fist cracked against her chin, pain blossoming from the bruised bone and spreading in a wave of heat that drew a startled cry from her lips. Another kick to her abdomen followed, and though Buffy tried to curl around the pain, tried to shield herself from Apophis' vicious aim, she still felt bone breaking as she was propelled in the air, twisting dizzily before she crashed on her back. She lost her breath in an explosion of air that pushed against her cracked ribs, maybe even puncturing lungs and other vital organs, and she couldn't get it back.

Memories assaulted her, colored her perceptions and weakened her to Apophis' rain of fury. He was a self-proclaimed god that fought for his total domination of her mind, her body, and her spirit - and he was winning. He was _winning!_ This realization was wrong on so many levels, but months of torture and living in a literal hell had drained her, had weakened her, and though her heart rebelled against the weakness, rebelled against the pain that laid her low, the fact remained that she was so very tired.

* * *

_Buffy wasn't even looking at Apophis when he shot her. Maybe if she had, she would have been able to somehow avoid the blasts that were causing her body to jerk with fiery spasms of pain. Apophis had betrayed them - no surprise - but Buffy hadn't expected this; she hadn't anticipated this ending. There was so much blood - so much blood that she could feel soaking through her tee-shirt and spreading beneath her. And the pain-_

_Gods, the pain._

_It was unbelievable, unbearable, it was-_

_Jack._

_Suddenly Jack was there and he was looking at her and... and the blood was there, the pain was there, but Jack was _looking _at her. His brown eyes were staring into her own, their depths shining with pain and glimmering with tears that trailed unnoticed down his grizzled cheeks._

* * *

It was as though a switch had been flipped.

"No," Buffy rasped, and with that single word she instinctively ducked the kick that was aimed at her head and rolled to the side. Apophis was Jack's Angelus, and she wouldn't make him go through what she had experienced when Angel had lost his soul - when his body had been ruled by a demon. It wasn't the same, but it wasn't different, either, and Buffy would never wish that kind of pain on another, let alone the man that she loved.

"Oh, you are _so_ dead," Buffy muttered as, suddenly energized, she rolled out of the path of his next attack and regained her footing. Immediately she backed away, putting some distance between her and the goa'uld. Her right eye was swollen shut and her vision in the left was partially obscured by a thin ribbon of blood, but she could still make out the surprise that parted Apophis' lips as she began bouncing on the balls of her feet, getting the feel of the sand shifting beneath her heavy combat boots.

The fight had drawn them away from her little seat in the shade, but while the sun was harsh, it was also the beautiful yellow sun beneath which Buffy had been born, raised, and killed. As she stretched out bruised and battered muscles, enjoying the fierce burn, she realized that this vision-world was a part of Earth, and it was her domain. Apophis had worked her over with the expertise of a sadistic madman that had been around for centuries longer than her, but this wasn't her first brawl, and nor would it be her last. Skin was cracked, bones were broken, and blood had been spilt - and suddenly none of that mattered because a little bit of pain was the best tool to sharpen the fury of a slayer. It whetted the appetite and demanded retribution, and Buffy... she had a lot of retribution that needed to be delivered.

Apophis' dark eyes never lost their golden glow in this dreamscape, and Buffy met his gaze with a solemn, unspoken promise. "You made a big mistake when you decided to use me as your host," she stated before darting forward, her fist flying through the air. It collided with the side of Apophis' face with the force of several men, and the goa'uld's head cracked to the side as he stumbled back in the shifting sand. "Maybe it really was your only option to get off of Ne'tu, but it certainly wasn't the smartest one," she continued as she followed up the punch with a roundhouse kick that sent the goa'uld spinning into the ground, a fine yellow cloud billowing around his form. "The others had their doubts, but Jack didn't. Jack knew that when I was ready, I would kill you, same as with all of the other snakes that thought that they could defeat me. My face, this place - it was the last thing they ever saw."

Buffy crossed the distance between them and bent towards the goa'uld, only to cringe away as Apophis flung a handful of sand into her good eye. She heard him regaining his feet, the soft shushing as the sand pooled around his heavy feet, the rasp of his pants against his sweat-slicked skin, and she knew that he would attack her when she was blind.

But she and Apophis had both forgotten that this desert landscape was her world, her creation, and as demonstrated by the popcorn, she was the one who made the rules. With a single thought, the world paused and the heavy void of silence was filled with the harsh sound of her breathing, and the soft wash of sand as she shifted from foot to foot. Gently she wiped blood and sand from her good eye and then lifted her head to find Apophis, tall and fierce, his robes spattered with her blood and his bared chest glistening with sweat, towering over her petite frame. He was frozen mid-punch with his fist drawn back by his ear, the dark skin smeared red - and Buffy smiled a slow, weary smile. It was time to end this.

Closing her eyes, Buffy cleared her mind of all thoughts save for that which she needed. When she opened them, she was expecting to find Mr. Pointy or the troll hammer. What she hadn't been expecting was the black and blood-red scythe that sang with power. Its blade was wickedly sharp and the handle ended in a stake, and the moment that Buffy looked at it, she knew that it was _hers_. This weapon had been crafted for her, it reacted with her blood, and her only regret was that once she woke from this dreamscape, she would be unable to take this wonderful, perfectly crafted weapon with her.

Buffy took a small, slow step to the right, and with a thought the world became unstuck. She closed her eyes as the wind whipped fine particles of sand against her sun-kissed skin. She heard Apophis' startled exclamation from beside her as the force of his punch, and the sudden absence of his target, toppled him onto the sand. Then she turned and Buffy looked down at his crumpled figure with open disdain.

This.

This pitiful creature was responsible for her hell, for her pain, and for the pain of so many others.

No longer.

Buffy crossed the distance between them until _she_ was the one towering over _his_ frame.

Apophis sensed the change within her, and fear once more shone from his dark, angry eyes. "You cannot kill me," he hissed, arrogant to the last. "You cannot kill me for I am a _God."_

"You're not a god," Buffy sighed, but not with anger; she wasn't an angel of vengeance or a tool for justice. Her earlier vindication had vanished in a wave of wearying fatigue. She was tired; tired of being hurt and of hurting those that she loved. She just wanted to go home; back to her friends, back to her family, and back to the man that she loved. "You're not a god," she repeated with a slow shake of her head, her hand tightening on the scythe's handle. "You're just another guy who's out to end the world, and I'm just the girl who stops you. For Jack. For Daniel and Teal'c. For Sha're and Skaara and for every other person that you've ever hurt. It's what I do," Buffy murmured as she lifted the weapon and brought it down with enough force that the blade cut through Apophis' neck, severing his head from his body with a clean swish that left the bloodied blade embedded in the sand.

And then the world dissolved into a new, strange tableau.

She was lying on her back, a soft cushion of thick grass twisted beneath her body and tickling her forearms and the palms of her hands. A gentle breeze buffeted her skin, pulled at her clothes, and carried with it the sweet, fresh scent of pine. Buffy opened her eyes to find a hazy blue sky stretching as far as she could see, three suns glinting at the edges of her vision as thick tree canopies bent and then folded from her view.

She hurt - oh, gods, did she hurt, and her thoughts were muddy and hazed. It was the kind of hurt that discouraged movement, and over the years Buffy had learned to listen to that kind of pain. She felt a coiling sickness in the pit of her stomach, and her chest hurt in a way that took her breath away. It was a fiery pain, a strange mix between feeling as though she had been stabbed, or shot, or burned - or all three - but it was also a dull pain, the kind that meant that the healing was well on its way.

And she was cold.

The breeze may have been gentle, but it was fricking cold, and the ground, though soft, was leeching the warmth from her body. But the freezing temperature, no matter how unwelcome, was the thing that finally focused her muddy thoughts.

Ne'tu.

Jack.

Apophis.

_Wormhole_.

The blinding panic that came with memory of the wormhole was enough to steal Buffy's breath. She went through the wormhole. _She went through the wormhole_. Okay, so yes, she had kicked Apophis' ass, but she had _gone through the wormhole_ which meant that she was on _another_ alien planet.

She was alone on an alien planet.

She was _alone_ on an _alien planet_ and she was hurting and in pain; she was weak and she could feel her body betraying her as her vision began to gray along the edges. Her body was betraying her and it was going to leave her _alone_ and _vulnerable_ on an alien planet.

'This sucks' didn't even begin to cover the matter.

But then Buffy's view of the sky and trees became obstructed by the most beautiful face that Buffy had ever before seen. Jack's tired, chocolate brown eyes were looking at her with worry, and she knew he was saying something to her because his lips were moving, but Buffy didn't care. She didn't care because she was on an alien planet and _Jack was there_. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes, and she couldn't blink them away quite fast enough as she felt Jack gather her up in his arms and cradle her against his chest. She was crying, and slayers didn't cry, but surely it was okay just this once.

Her face was buried against his shoulder as the sobs wracked her body - shock, relief, pain and weariness warring with her, playing havoc with her emotions and her poor, battered system.

"Shh... it's alright, Buffy. I've got you," Jack murmured, and his words, as well as the fact that she could hear them, were enough to start a fresh wave of tears as she sunk into his embrace. "It's all over now."

Over.

Sniffling, Buffy pulled back just far enough to look at Jack's face - all creased and lined with age and worry and emotions that neither had been ready to deal with. "Take me home, Jack... just take me home," she whispered, and this time there was no fighting her body as the gray encroached upon her vision, leaving her with a feeling of safety and Jack's smile before darkness took her.

* * *

For a moment, silence reigned as Sam looked from the soft, lazy ripples of Vorash's open wormhole to her remaining teammates. The colonel was gone, and right after they had just gotten him back, too.

The irony wasn't lost on her.

Everything had seemed to happen so fast. One moment Apophis was walking towards the gate, and in the next he began to seize and lurch the remaining distance. The colonel had immediately started forward, and only Teal'c had been able to hold him back, but then Apophis had stilled upon the threshold to the open wormhole, the seizure intensifying, before he just seemed to... fall through to whatever waited on the other side.

The colonel had called out Buffy's name, and before anyone could stop him, he had shrugged out of Teal'c's stunned hold and had run forward, throwing himself in after.

"We... we have no idea who or what is waiting on the other side of that wormhole," Sam murmured in stunned disbelief as she stared into the hypnotic depths of the calm, rippling waters. "There could be Jaffa, or angry villagers, or.. or a cliff!"

"True," Daniel agreed, his words so calm - almost indifferent - that Sam turned to the younger man in baffled confusion.

"Daniel, the colonel just jumped through a _wormhole_ to god only knows where!" Sam cried out, only to feel her head begin to throb as Daniel shrugged his response.

"Yes, but the real question is: are you really willing to let Jack out of our sight again? I mean, who knows how long it will be until we find him _this_ time," he countered reasonably.

Sam could only sigh and shake her head, hating Daniel for being right, before she lifted her P90 and led her team through the open wormhole - only to trip over the colonel who was squatting on the grass on the other side.

Immediately her eyes swept over the landscape, noting the thick, lush forest and heavy greenery, and the three red suns that glinted over the landscape. The area appeared to be deserted, but she kept her weapon ready as she chanced a glance down to her commander. The colonel was kneeling on the ground with, strangely enough, Apophis cradled in his arms. The goa'uld seemed to be unconscious, and Sam took a moment to ensure that both Teal'c and Daniel were watching their surroundings before she lowered her weapon and knelt beside her commander. "Sir?"

"About time you guys got here," the colonel returned with a wry smile, his gaze lingering on Apophis' serene features. The man seemed to be ignoring Sam's growing exasperation, and with great effort she resisted the urge to point out the fact that her commanding officer had just done something profoundly stupid. But then the colonel was standing, with Teal'c's assistance, Apophis cradled in his arms. "Danny, dial it up. It's time to go home," he ordered as he moved out of the way of the still-open stargate.

Sighing, Sam turned her attention to the unmoving goa'uld. "Sir, what happened?"

"She won," Jack returned with a simple shrug.

Both Teal'c and Daniel gave up any pretense of watching their surroundings and, baffled, they all looked to the unconscious goa'uld in confusion. No, not goa'uld, Sam realized as she finally understood the reason for the colonel's uncustomary tender expression. "She... Apophis is dead?" Sam murmured, trying out the unfamiliar words and discovering that she liked how they sounded.

Turning from her, Jack looked at both Teal'c and Daniel before nodding gravely. "He's dead."

**To be continued...**


	24. Chapter 24

**Godless Provenance: Chapter 24  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Notes:** And here we come to it at last. Thank you so much for all of the support and encouragement that you have given me over the course of this story - it couldn't have been written without you. Whether you reviewed every chapter, or did your lurking with dedication, I thank you for taking the time to read this monster. At this point, as always, I also ask that you leave a review when you've finished. Whether this will be your twenty-fourth review, or your first, I'd love to hear your final thoughts on the story. This has been a project two years in the making, and reviews are the author's final and only rewards. Thank you in advance, and happy reading!

* * *

The night was unusually cold for a typical December evening in Southern California. The worn wooden planks of the back porch were like blocks of ice that pushed their frigid fingers through the thick cloth of her blue jeans, chilling her skin and causing small shivers to ripple up her slight frame. She sat hunched over, her legs angling down the three uneven steps with her boots planted in the frost-covered grass, and her bare hands tucked into the sleeves of her oversized white sweater. The soft cotton weave was covered by a heavy wool pea coat, the coarse material scratching her ears as she hunched her shoulders to duck down further into the deceptive warmth her body offered. Her breath became trapped within the thick cloth, creating a warm, moist atmosphere that she greedily inhaled before exhaling through her nose in a plume of frosty air.

For the first time in over three weeks, Buffy was alone with her thoughts. Behind her, the house was bursting with life - she could hear the soft murmurings of Dawn and Tara over the clinking of dishes as they worked together to clean up dinner mess; she could hear Willow happily typing away in the dining room while Giles flipped page after page of some dusty book or another, muttering quietly to himself at the other end of the table; she could hear the television blaring from the living room, and Xander and Anya enumerating the many things they had learned from watching _24_, such as the idea that living in Los Angeles was tantamount to getting killed in one terrorist attack or another, because apparently all bad things only happened in Los Angeles.

Buffy snorted softly, the air misting before her as she snuggled deeper into the warmth of her jacket. If there was one thing that she had learned during her career, or calling, as a slayer, it was that bad things weren't restricted to one location, and could happen anywhere, at any time.

But so could the good.

As was commonplace from getting snaked, Buffy remembered very little following her showdown with Apophis. She remembered staying conscious long enough to see Jack hovering over her on some alien planet; she remembered being carried down the ramp into Stargate Command to find Xander waiting for her with General Hammond; and she remembered waking in the hospital infirmary to the feeling of her hand encased in the soft, gentle grip of another. It was here that the memories became more clear, because she remembered thinking that the other hand was larger than her own - strong - with calluses lining the skin in a familiar way that brought a soft smile to her lips. The smile had given her away, and she had felt the hand tighten around her own as another wonderful hand brushed against her forehead.

She had been lying on a bed with a thin mattress, encased in tightly folded sheets that scratched her skin and restricted her movements. Her hospital gown and thin blanket had done little to keep the chill of the subterranean room at bay, but when she opened her eyes to find Jack holding her hand and seated at her bedside, the chill had been forgotten. Xander had been with him, and Daniel as well. The others, she had been told - Giles and Dawn, Willow and Tara, and even Anya - were already in Colorado Springs, holed up in a motel and desperately waiting to see her.

Within moments of her awakening, Daniel had immediately launched into the story of when Jack met Xander - a tale that was already becoming legendary amongst the Scoobies, and though Buffy had been only somewhat coherent at the time, even she remembered it word for word.

Apparently Xander had been less than impressed to see her come through the stargate, barely conscious and covered in blood, and being held in the arms of a stranger. He had met Jack at the bottom of the ramp and had tried to take his best friend from the stranger, only to find that Jack wasn't willing to relinquish his burden.

* * *

_Grinning unrepentantly in the face of Jack's scowl, Daniel adjusted his glasses and beamed at Buffy from where she watched from her infirmary bed with open amusement. "I believe Jack's exact words were, 'Who in the hell are you?'"_

_"Her best friend," Xander supplied with that dorky grin that Buffy loved, eagerly playing his part from where he stood beside Daniel. "And who in the hell are you?"_

_"Her boyfriend," Daniel returned, his eyes dancing._

_Masking her grin, Buffy turned towards Jack and arched a brow at the older man, enjoying the way his face began to flush in embarrassment. "My boyfriend?"_

_"Okay, so maybe I was a little-"_

_"Presumptuous?" Daniel supplied with a cheeky grin._

_"-with my wording," Jack finished as he redirected his glare towards his best friend, "but in my defense-"_

_"No," Buffy quickly interrupted with a soft smile. "I like it."_

_Hazel eyes met dark brown, but before things could become too serious, Xander broke the moment in his usual fashion. "Actually, you're a pretty good fit," he commented as he began to inspect Jack with a critical eye. "The Buffster has already proven that she's got a thing for guys in uniform, not to mention her penchant for older men."_

_Growling, Buffy aimed a punch for her scooby friend, only to have him jump out of reach. "Hey, at least he has a pulse!" she retorted._

_"And a reflection," Jack added with a small grin._

_"And to my knowledge, he doesn't suffer from any gypsy curses, nor does he have a thing for being a vampire slushee," Buffy concluded._

_"All positives in my book," Xander agreed with a decisive nod, while beside him Daniel shook his head and mouthed 'vampire slushee' to Jack, his expression brimming with curiosity._

* * *

Three days later Buffy had been reluctantly released from the hands of the military and into the waiting arms of her friends. Most of those three days had been spent undergoing treatment and what seemed like endless medical exams, not to mention signing a mountain of paperwork that threatened all kinds of unfortunate things if she were to ever breathe a word of her experiences to anyone outside of the Stargate program.

Buffy had broken _that_ promise within minutes of her release as between she and Xander, they managed to fill in the rest of the group on her most recent misadventures through the stargate. It was during this time, and the long car ride back to Sunnydale, that Buffy began to realize that her release may not have been as certain as she had believed. Jack had been quiet and reserved during her stay with the SGC, and Buffy knew him well enough to know that he had been worried about something. It was only on the return trip that Giles revealed that there were certain branches of the government who hadn't been so eager to let her just walk away from the program and back into civilian life. Buffy had seen things that were highly classified - things that caused many a person to be killed to keep the secret. More important, she now had a wealth of knowledge buried in her brain - perhaps so deep that no one could ever access it.

Not that it would stop them from trying.

It was times like this where it really helped to have 'friends' in high places. Giles had placed a few calls to the Watcher's Council, of all places, and they, in turn, had placed a few more calls to a few more people. The Council had reminded the right people of the importance of having the slayer free to do her sacred duty, and those people had reminded other important people until Buffy's release had been guaranteed. According to Willow, the moment of truth was when someone showed her files to the President of the United States who was apparently now a huge fan. Go figure.

Buffy wasn't naive enough to think that this freedom would last forever, that she wasn't being watched, and that someday, someone wouldn't go against the government's wishes and make a move against her in hopes of getting what was locked away in her head. She was a target, but again, this really wasn't anything new. She had become a target the moment that she became the slayer. The only difference was now she faced the threat from humans as well as demons.

"C'est la vie," Buffy murmured with a wry shake of her head.

"What is?"

Smiling through her shivers, Buffy withdrew from her coat's turtle shell and watched Jack ease from the shadows of the backyard. He was out of uniform, dressed in baggy jeans, hiking boots, and a black leather jacket that looked thick and warm. His silvered hair was tucked beneath a worn baseball cap, his hands buried in his pockets, but his eyes were bright and shining as he drew within the circle of bright porch light.

The wood groaned as he settled beside her, and Buffy instinctively leaned into his warmth as one of his hands slipped free so that he could wrap his arm around her, holding her close. "How did you know I was back here?" she asked, the unfamiliar scent of his cologne filling her nose. It was a pleasant scent - something that mixed astringent chemical with his own natural scent, the one that she had gotten used to during their six months of captivity, so that it weaved together to make her think of thick woods and cold nights.

"When I pulled up, it seemed as though every light in the house was on, and I could hear the tv from the street," he answered with a small shrug that pushed against her cheek. "But back here it's dark, it's quiet, and it's cold. It's where I would have been - though I'm surprised that you're alone. Without Dawn," he added pointedly.

"She's helping Tara with dinner mess," Buffy offered by way of explanation, even as she admitted that he had a point.

Strangely enough, her reintegration into life in Sunnydale wasn't as hard as she would have imagined. When she had sacrificed her life for Dawn's, Buffy had been at the lowest, darkest point of her life. The world had become too much - the death of her mother, the constant fighting, and the idea of facing a foe that seemed unstoppable. Buffy had chosen death at that point - but death hadn't wanted her, and as a result, she had endured physical torture, mental anguish, and hellish conditions from the moment that she had given her life for Dawn's.

In doing so, Buffy had found a new lease on life.

She had found love, strength, and a fierce desire to return to the life she had walked away from, from the family and friends that she had selfishly chosen to abandon. Buffy had found perspective.

Over three weeks ago Buffy returned to her old life and made her presence on the Hellmouth known, working hard to reestablish the equilibrium that came with having an active slayer guarding the supernatural hotspot. Whenever she wasn't fulfilling her slayer duties, she spent her time with her friends, and had even begun auditing a few classes at the college. Thanks to a nice check from the government for all of her 'consulting' work with the Stargate program, as well as the fact that she was finally, _finally_ getting a paycheck from the Watcher's Council for her real job - and all thanks to some gentle persuasion for pursuing that paycheck - Buffy's world was open. She was free to spend her evenings slaying and preventing the end of the world, and her days making up for all of the damage that was done by her disappearance through Glory's portal. And that damage was more emotional than physical, for if Buffy thought that she had abandonment issues, that was nothing compared to what Dawn had going on.

In the course of one brutal year, Dawn had learned that she was a glowing ball of mystical energy that was capable of ending the world, and that up until the moment energy was made flesh, all of her memories were fake. Her mother had died and left her a virtual orphan, she had been kidnapped by a hell goddess, and then Buffy, her older sister and one remaining family member, disappeared into Glory's portal in Dawn's place, presumably dead, without even leaving a body to bury. Even worse, Dawn was never allowed to mourn the loss of her sister for she had been forced to live a lie. Each day she had to pretend that the Buffybot was her sister, and she had to look into a face that mirrored Buffy's own. Then Dawn had to face the day when the Buffybot was destroyed, and suddenly there was no way to pretend, in the darkest parts of the night, that Buffy was still alive and that she wasn't really alone. In the end, Dawn's _issues_ had issues.

And so Dawn clung to Buffy. Wherever Buffy went, Dawn was close behind, touching her, talking to her, or else just watching, as though waiting for Buffy to disappear. Sometimes Buffy would wake up in the middle of the night to find Dawn standing in her open doorway, the hall light haloing her features and making her seem so very young and alone, just watching her. On those nights Buffy would scoot over, pull back the covers, and pat the empty mattress beside her in open invitation, and her sister would pad on silent feet, the mattress dipping under her slight weight, and lay her head on Buffy's pillow, blue eyes meeting green. Dawn would place her hand on Buffy's chest where she could feel her sister's steady heartbeat, and stare at Buffy until sleep caused her eyes to fall shut. Buffy, in turn, would gently stroke her little sister's face until the lines smoothed away.

Dawn's loud laughter suddenly echoed from within the house, breaking Buffy from her thoughts. "Dawn's getting better. _We're_ getting better," she amended with a soft smile as she pulled away so that she could watch Jack as he watched the dark night. His cheeks were peppered with a day's accruement of stubble, and Buffy found that she liked the shadows that they created on his cheeks and along his jaw line. "I think this is one of those rare cases where I can attest to how much my time in hell helped clear things up. After mom died, I was so busy trying to fill her shoes when I should have realized that no one could have replaced her. Not for either of us. Dawn didn't need a new mom. She needed her sister."

"Yeah," Jack agreed as he finally turned towards her, his thin lips lifting in a wry grin. "Hellfire makes everything more clear... kind of red, even."

"Cute," Buffy retorted with a dry shake of her head. But her mirth was short-lived as she forced herself to finally ask the question that had her tilting her head back to look at the spattering of stars so high above. "How did the mission go?"

The mission.

Buffy had been released from the depths of Cheyenne Mountain over three weeks ago, and two of those weeks had been spent with Jack O'Neill as a guest of the Summers household. She had returned to her life in Sunnydale with her friends at her side, but Jack had followed only a few days later. General Hammond had ordered that his second-in-command take some well-deserved leave before returning to active duty, and Jack had stayed in Colorado Springs just long enough to complete all of the paperwork that would revoke his KIA status, to reclaim his house which had, thankfully, not yet been sold, and return all of his possessions to their proper place - all with his team's help. Daniel had even volunteered (insisted) on making the trip with Jack, and for a few days the house on Revello Drive had been all the more full.

But Buffy had given Jack's team a gift before she left Colorado Springs, and that gift had warranted her return to the depths of Cheyenne Mountain with both men, only two weeks after she had left it.

While imprisoned in her own body, Buffy had slowly, painfully peeled back the layers of Apophis' mind like the burning layers of an onion. She had been looking for something particular, and by doing so, she had delayed the moment in which she had retaken control of her own body until it was almost too late. But Buffy had found what she had been looking for, and before she left for Sunnydale Buffy told the SGC of Apophis' protocols for reuniting with his wife and son.

Buffy had given them Amonet and Klorel.

She had given them Sha're and Skaara.

With the help of the brains at the SGC, as well as some Hollywood-esque special effects that made her eyes flash with golden light, and which lowered her voice until it grated like a goa'uld's, Buffy had returned to the mountain in order to create a message for the godling and his mother that revealed to them the temporary host of their father and husband, and told them of a rendezvous point and time. An unknown number of their loyal Jaffa had been compromised by the shol'va, and they were to trust no one with this information, and come alone to be reunited.

The message had been hard to make, as for the first time since she had been sent home, Buffy was once more forced to open herself to the memories that lingered from Apophis, as well as all of the other goa'uld symbiotes that she had hosted. Unfortunately, there was no one else who could have made the video. Buffy now knew things that only Apophis would know, and she was the only one who could deliver the message as Apophis would have done. There were new shadows in her eyes when the taping had concluded, and while Carter and her fellow geeks put on the finishing touches, Buffy had spent an hour beneath the scalding spray of a shower, trying in vain to wash away the darkness that stubbornly clung to her skin, with Jack's arms wrapped tight around her.

The mission had been given a green light, and Jack had gone with his team to retrieve Daniel's wife and their young friend, but the foresight of her friends guaranteed that Buffy hadn't had to make the return trip alone. Giles had been waiting for his slayer to emerge from the stark depths of the mountain, and with her watcher at her side, they had flown back to Sunnydale and into the familiar comfort of her friends.

That had been five days ago.

"Jack-"

One moment Buffy was sitting on the back porch step, Jack's arm around her shoulder as she leaned into his warmth. The next she found herself pulled to her feet on the spongy lawn, the older man towering over her as he crushed her against his lean frame. His tight embrace would have been suffocating to anyone who wasn't the slayer, and it took only a moment for Buffy to return the hug with as much strength as she dared. Her earlier chill was quickly doused by the heat that radiated from Jack's body like a soothing furnace, and she almost found herself purring in delight when just as quickly she was pushed away by two strong hands that were wrapped around her biceps.

"Wha-"

"That was from Daniel," Jack offered with a cheeky grin before he tightened his hold on her arms and pulled her roughly forward, his head dipping at the same time so that his lips could capture hers in a kiss that caused her brain to short-circuit.

There was heat.

There was passion.

There was even some tongue.

Time passed, of that she was sure, but when Jack finally pulled away, she was surprised to find that her arms were wrapped around his neck, her fingers twined in his silvered hair, and that she was now standing a few steps up so that she could look directly into brown eyes that smoldered in a way she had come to know over the past few weeks of their relationship. "Was... was that from Daniel as well?" Buffy stammered as one hand slid down to tenderly cup his cheek, smiling as he leaned his head into her touch.

"No, that was from Teal'c," Jack deadpanned, surprising a laugh out of Buffy as he leaned forward and kissed her again. His large hands were at the small of her back, and then they were cupping her face and pulling her closer so that she was pressed up against him, feeling loved and cherished and... safe. Protected.

This time Buffy was the one to pull away as she really looked at Jack for the first time, her hands mirroring his own as she tenderly held his face and looked into his eyes. They were standing directly beneath the yellow-orange glow of the porch light, and his skin was infused with a flush of health, warmth, and happiness. There were no shadows in his eyes, the chocolate-brown orbs both deep and clear, and in them Buffy found the answer that she had been looking for.

"You found Sha're and Skaara," Buffy murmured, his lips, slightly bruised and swollen from their kisses, lifting in answering smile. "You found them and... they're okay? You were able to get rid of Amonet and Klorel?" she guessed as the last vestiges of darkness slowly seeped from her body, fleeing from the bright porch light and the love and happiness that left Jack's shoulders strong and unbent.

"The Tok'ra actually did the removing," Jack admitted with a negligent shrug - so obviously, completely happy that not even the mention of their 'allies' was enough to dim his smile, "but yes. The snakes are gone and Sha're and Skaara are back on Abydos."

"Abydos?" Buffy questioned, her smile faltering. "But-"

"Danny's with them," Jack interrupted. "Skaara belongs with his father and his people, but General Hammond is working on getting permission for Sha're, at least, to return with Danny to make this her home."

Shaking her head in wonder, Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled him close and rested her head against his shoulder, reveling in the feeling of his arms around her. "You did it."

"We did it," Jack corrected, his words muffled against her hair. "You said yourself that you could have kicked Apophis out much sooner, but you stuck around in order to find the information. I know that it couldn't have been easy, and I can't imagine-"

"You're the one who gave me the opportunity to find it in the first place," Buffy argued as she once more pulled away, her eyes shining. The night was quiet - nothing but the soft shush of the wind through the trees, the echo of warmth, love and merriment carrying from the house behind her, and the steady thrum of Jack's heart from beneath her wind-chapped hand. "If you hadn't believed in me, if you hadn't allowed Apophis to snake me, then I'd be dead," Buffy gently reminded him. "But you... Jack, you gave me the chance to save myself," Buffy murmured as she once more shook her head. "I love you."

There it was. Three little words that Buffy had whispered when she had been dying, but which she had been holding back ever since. She loved Jack, she did, but those three words were words of weight, and of consequence. They were not words to be tossed around lightly, especially after the disasters that had been her past relationships. And so Buffy had jealously guarded those words, always waiting for the one moment - the perfect moment to make them real.

They were words that didn't come easy to either of them, and Buffy remembered this as she watched Jack hear the words, absorb them, and fully process their every meaning. This moment was about them, but it was also about everything that defined them - about everyone that they had ever loved. In this moment, in his eyes, Buffy felt the weight of her words, of her love for Jack, but she also felt the weight of Angel, and Riley, and Sarah, and Charlie.

It was a moment that stretched, but one that was all the more perfect for the gravity with which Jack smiled his return. "I love you, too."

Three simple words, and suddenly Buffy knew that everything was going to be alright, and at the same time, nothing would ever be the same again. She loved a colonel in the United States Air Force, leader of the premiere gate team of Stargate Command, and he loved a slayer, the Chosen One and guardian of an active Hellmouth. Their duties, their callings, would keep them from enjoying these moments day in and day out, but at the same time, now they would never be alone again.

**The End**


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